


584 Days

by Zillabird



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Death Threats, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Nudity, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Threats, Threats of Violence, death ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zillabird/pseuds/Zillabird
Summary: District Attorney Bruce Wayne has managed to upset the wrong people. Again. The trial of Alexander Luthor is the trial of the century. If Bruce took home a win, he'd make history books. However, Luthor is determined not to go to prison. He hires a mercenary to kidnap the D.A.'s grown ward and keep him hidden away to ensure that Wayne throws the trial.Dick Grayson didn't ask for this. He left Bruce's money and secure, expensive Manor in order to strike out on his own. Maybe bartending isn't what he had in mind, but it's paying (most of) his bills. Right up until Slade Wilson breaks into his home and holds him hostage. Between the kidnapping and the man's short temper, the imminent threat of his death, Dick should have no reason to care for the man keeping him locked up.Dick spends 584 days in captivity, confined with only his captor for company. But when freedom comes within reach, Dick may not choose to walk away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is just... so much to say.
> 
> First of all, I don't know what this is. Honestly, it was just supposed to be a quick porn and then done but then there was a plot and I had written four thousand words and it's exploded and I'm just going to keep going. Forgive me. Second, this fic is horrible. Hopefully not in terms of writing quality but definitely in terms of darkness. There's no such thing as dubious consent in my book. There's either a sane, safe yes or it's rape. By the time Dick sleeps with Slade, he is not in a mindset capable of making the decision and Slade knows that. So while this does not really fit the general concept of rape as a violent, forced sexual interaction - I'm tagging it as rape anyways. Furthermore, Slade and Dick both develop Lima Syndrome and Stockholm Syndrome respectively. They, at the very least, believe they are in love. There are times that Dick may act as if Slade's actions are romantic or endearing but that is because Dick is mentally compromised and /not/ because Slade's actions are not abusive.
> 
> TL;DR Read the warnings. Read the tags. Be aware of what this story is before you start reading it. The author does not condone the actions of the characters within the fanfic, only wishes to write them in a safe, comfortable setting. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> P.S. Credit for this prompt goes to the ever amazing KaRaEa who asked for porn and got a behemoth story instead. And porn. Good for her.

**DAY ONE**

It should have worried Dick more that the door wasn’t locked. After all, Bruce had always been careful to drill into his head how absolutely necessary personal safety was considering his profession. But Dick was exhausted, working too many overnights and still letting his body wake him up before the sunrise out of old habit, and he couldn’t honestly remember if he’d locked the door before he left.

He closed it behind him and made sure to lock it this time. Nothing obvious was missing, which was a good sign that Dick had just been too tired to remember something as simple as sticking the key in the lock and twisting.

Good thing, too. He couldn’t afford another TV.

His keys hit the end table and skidded off the edge to fall on the floor. Dick kicked his shoes next to them in hopes that he’d see the keys when he put them on later and not panic in search of them. The hoodie came next, tossed over the couch, and then the black uniform t-shirt the bar required. It dropped into a lumpy heap in the middle of the hallway on the way to the bathroom and was forgotten just that quickly.

The force of his head slamming into the wall was enough to make him dizzy. He brought his arms up belatedly but his attacker pressed him up against the wall anyways. The thumbs that dug into his hips felt calloused. Dick blinked his head clear and looked up at the single blue eye narrowed on him from behind a mask. “Grayson?”

“Who wants to know?” Dick demanded. He brought his knee up, barely missing the attacker’s groin as he moved back and then spun Dick around to press him face first against the wall this time. Dick’s arm was wrenched behind his back, one hand pinned just above the waistband of his jeans and the other held at the wrist against the hallway wall. “Get off me.”

“Richard Grayson?” the intruder demanded.

Dick stayed stubbornly silent, only grunting in displeasure when the man lined up their bodies to keep Dick’s hand pinned between them. A hand reached into Dick’s front pockets, coming out with the worn leather wallet he’d gotten as a sixteenth birthday present. It had his initials engraved on it. Bruce’s idea of a personal gift.

Two nickels fell out from the rough handling and Dick glanced over to see his ID pulled out before the wallet was also dropped onto the floor. Fingers forced Dick’s head to turn, comparing him to the picture on the ID, and then the ID was tossed aside.

“You could have just told me, made this a hell of a lot easier.” The voice was low, gruff. Sort of went with the ice blue eye.

Dick jerked, struggling, and got his head slammed back into the wall for his troubles. He was starting to get a real headache, and now blinking wasn’t really enough to clear his vision. “What do you want?”

His intruder didn’t answer and when Dick tried to tug his pinned hand to freedom, the hand around his wrist squeezed painfully.

A cloth covered Dick’s face and Dick had been dragged to enough self-defense classes to know when he was being drugged. Dick held his breath, struggling desperately – though it didn’t seem to affect his attacker all that much. His lungs burned and an already disorienting lightheadedness managed to only get worse. Black dots were dancing in front of his vision before Dick finally couldn’t take it anymore and inhaled.

The pungent sweet smell of chloroform hit his nose before his vision blurred. He forgot to try and hold his breath again and inhaled once more, slumping into unconsciousness.

~~~

Pain lit up on Dick’s cheek and he snapped his eyes open, watching his attacker pull his hand back from slapping him. “Damn, kid. Are you planning to sleep all goddamn day?”

Dick tried to move his hand to his cheek but found his wrists zip tied to the headboard of a bed. It looked simple but expensively made, not the kind of bed that would fall apart just by Dick pulling on it.

He watched the man move around the room, no longer wearing the mask. He was older, maybe a few years older than Bruce, with snow white hair and that pale blue eye. The other was covered with an eye patch which gave him an intimidating air. He also looked like he might be capable of bench pressing Dick’s entire body.

“What do you want from me?” Dick asked again, tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth. He’d love a glass of water but, having been drugged once, Dick wasn’t eager to repeat the process.

“You? Nothing,” the man said. “I’m in this for the money.”

“Criminals usually are,” Dick replied.

The attacker huffed, something like a laugh but with less humor. A sleek black phone sat on the table and the man grabbed it before turning and pointing it at Dick. “Smile for the camera.”

The flash lit up the dim room and then the man was focusing on doing something with it. Dick wiggled his wrists in the bindings, hissing when his attempts at freedom ended up slicing the side of his wrist open with the tight plastic tie.

The man looked up. “I’m not fixing that for a little while. You might want to tone it down until we’re done here.”

Dick didn’t want to take his advice, but he also knew he wasn’t getting anywhere with the ties. Since he clearly wasn’t the man’s current first priority, Dick looked around the room. He’d guess hotel, but maybe it was just a minimalistic apartment. It wasn’t big enough to be a house. There was a window in the room but the curtains were drawn and thick enough to keep out the sun. And there _was_ sun, as seen by the strip of light on the floor. A table, two chairs. A dresser that had a laptop on it. The screen was up but black, maybe sleeping. The door had to be just out of sight, down the hall, but if Dick could get to it then maybe he could get out of here.

The phone thumped as it was laid back down on the table, drawing Dick’s attention back to the man. “Now we wait.”

“For what?” On cue, the laptop lit back up to a factory set screen and bellowed the ringtone of a Skype call.

The man came over with a roll of duct tape. Dick stiffened and yanked hard, getting a hand in his hair to drag him back into the center of the bed and cover his mouth with a strip of the silver tape. Dick glared as he watched the man shake his head at Dick’s antics and then hit a button on the keyboard to open up the Skype chat.

Bruce’s face filled the screen and Dick’s mood only managed to sink farther. “What is this?”

At some point, the intruder must have covered his face with the mask again. He stepped into view of the camera and stood next to Dick. “I think you know what this is, District Attorney. I’ve been paid money to kidnap your son and hold him until the trial is over for Lex Luthor.”

“He’s a murderer,” Bruce replied.

A gun was pulled and the muzzle was pressed against Dick’s temple. The young man closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and opened them to see the flash of panic on Bruce’s face. A tension lined his shoulders, curled his hands into fists, but his voice remained even.

“Mr. Wayne, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough. I don’t care what Mr. Luthor did and you’re going to stop caring too. If you don’t back down, I’m going to have to blow your son’s brains out in front of you and I don’t think any of us want it to go that far,” the man said. “You can make this very simple or very difficult.”

“Fine. I’ll drop the case,” Bruce said. “Let him go.”

The hammer clicked. “You’re not dropping the case. You’re going to lose the case, Mr. Wayne. Luthor doesn’t want this to come back down the road.”

A tick was visible in Bruce’s jaw. “Or you’ll kill Dick.”

“Now you’re getting the idea,” the man said. “No police. No authorities of any kind. I’ll contact you at random intervals to set up videos so you can see him and determine his safety. If I think you’ve involved someone, I’ll shoot your son. If Luthor goes to prison, I’ll shoot your son. If you disobey any order we give you, I’ll shoot your son.”

Dick was a pawn. Bruce had pissed off the wrong people again, and now Dick was paying for it.

“Understood,” Bruce replied, after a moment. Dick had never heard words sound so acidic.

“Cooperate and he’ll be home in time for Christmas,” the man countered. The gun moved away from Dick’s head. He took a shaky breath and moved his gaze to Bruce’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dick. Don’t worry. I’ll get you ou-“

The feed was cut off as the man hit another button on the keyboard. The mask was removed. The tape peeled away.

“Luthor paid you to kill me,” Dick said.

The man’s single blue eyes rolled over to gaze at him. “What?”

“The mask was for Bruce’s benefit,” Dick said. He wasn’t stupid, despite what Bruce seemed to think. “You’re not wearing it around me. You don’t care if I see you. Luthor hired you to kill me when this is over.”

The man was silent for a moment and then admitted, “He wants to make your father pay.”

“Bruce isn’t my father,” Dick said.

“He wants to make your former guardian pay, then,” the man said. “It doesn’t matter what he is to you. You’re going to die either way.”

When you looked at it like that…

“I wish I hadn’t paid this month’s rent,” Dick muttered.

The man’s lips quirked at that. “You’re taking the news well.”

“Should I cry? Beg? Bruce is a district attorney. I’ve met some of the worst criminals in this city. I know that you wouldn’t care,” Dick said. A real professional wouldn’t, at least. “You said it yourself, you’re in it for the money. If I could pay more than Luthor is, maybe, but Luthor is a billionaire and I bartend two blocks from my house.”

“True,” the man said.

“So I’ll make my witty jokes and maybe you’ll just be so charmed that you decide to let me live because you like me,” Dick said.

“Not likely,” the man replied.

“Still worth a shot.” Especially since it was Dick’s _only_ shot.

The man huffed again, the same not laugh. He pulled something out of his pocket and Dick jumped when the press of a button extended the blade. He flinched back and then relaxed when his captor only cut the zip tie holding his wrists to the bed. The man’s free hand, big and warm, wrapped around Dick’s neck to keep him still. “Don’t try to run, kid. I’m not playing games. You try to run, I’ll kill you.” Then he let go.

Dick rubbed his wrists, wincing as his fingers brushed against the cut on his skin. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” the man replied.

“What’s the harm? I’m dead anyways, isn’t that what you said?” Dick asked.

The man considered that in silence, grabbing Dick’s wrist and pulling it towards him. It had Dick rolling forward onto his knees to keep from his arm being yanked on. The man looked over the cut, wiping the blood away with his thumb. The action stung, despite the gentleness of the motion. He raised that blue eye to narrow on Dick. “Don’t move.”

Dick hesitated and then nodded, staying still on the bed when the man got up and walked away. He came back with what appeared to be a simple Band-Aid to put over Dick’s wrist. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”

The man rolled his eye and then pulled a new zip tie out of his pocket.

“Wait,” Dick said. He snatched his hands and curled his body around them. “That’s not necessary. Just-“

The man grabbed Dick’s upper arm and dragged him across the bed, pinning Dick’s hands against the headboard again and tying the zip tie around them. Dick yanked and found himself bound once again.

“Don’t fight, kid,” the man ordered. “It’ll be easier if you just accept it.”

Dick wasn’t good at accepting anything. “Tell me your name.”

“You just don’t give up, do you?” he asked.

Dick met his gaze with determination glowing bright in the baby blues.

The man sighed. “Slade.”

“Slade?” Dick asked.

“Slade,” he confirmed. “Now keep your mouth shut and sit quietly for me for a little while.”

A little while turned out to be a whole hour, while Dick thought about the situation he was in. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Go ahead,” Slade replied. He had sat down with a book. Dick couldn’t see the cover but it was thick and small. Paperback.

Dick gaped. “You can’t be serious.”

“What? This a little rough for the trust fund brat?” Slade asked dryly, turning the page without looking up.

“I’m not a trust fund brat,” Dick argued. “All I’m asking for is to use the bathroom.”

“And I’m telling you no,” Slade said.

“Trials take weeks, months,” Dick said. “You can’t keep me tied up in a motel room for all that time.”

Slade sighed and put the book down, seemingly irritated that Dick wouldn’t stop interrupting his reading. “You won’t be here for months. This is temporary.”

“Temporary?” Dick asked.

“Temporary,” Slade repeated. “As in, not permanent.”

Dick scowled. “I know what temporary means.”

“And yet you repeat it as if it’s new to your vocabulary,” Slade said.

This was temporary? Dick was going to be moved? That wasn’t a good sign. It meant it would be harder for anyone to find him, _if_ Bruce decided to take it to the police anyways since Slade had made it clear that he wasn’t supposed to.

“Can I please use the bathroom?” Dick asked. He twisted as much as he could and then sagged in his bindings. “It took you all of, what? Two minutes? To take me down in my apartment?”

“Forty five seconds,” Slade corrected.

Dick rolled his eyes. “Spare my pride.”

“You talk too much.”

“I have to use the bathroom,” Dick repeated.

Slade pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will shoot you if you try to run.”

“That’s been the theme of the day,” Dick said. “Can I go now?”

Slade sat there long enough that Dick wondered if the man was really going to make him pee himself and then he stood. Dick let out a sigh of relief. The knife came back out and cut the zip tie again. The hand not sliding the knife into Slade’s pocket grabbed Dick’s wrist and yanked him to his feet.

Dick didn’t try to pull away but he could tell by the force on his wrist that he wouldn’t have succeeded anyways.

“Thank you,” Dick said.

“Just use the bathroom,” Slade ordered, pulling him over and pushing him inside the restroom. Dick waited and then cleared his throat when Slade stood in the doorway. “Excuse me.”

“You’re excused,” Slade replied, still standing in the doorway.

“Can I pee in peace?” Dick asked.

“No,” Slade replied. He arched an eyebrow at Dick’s expression. “I didn’t want to do this either, if you remember.”

Dick closed his eyes and twisted a little before unzipping his pants. “How’d you lose the eye?”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“No…” Dick trailed off. “I’m curious.”

“Be curious about something else,” Slade said.

That ended that line of conversation.

Dick washed at the sink and then a strong hand was wrapped around his upper arm again, squeezing over bruises already there. “Wait.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Slade said, dragging him back towards the bed and zip tying him back to the headboard.

“Forgive me for not wanting to be tied down,” Dick said. The familiar ache was settling into his arms, the muscles growing tired of this position.

Slade’s nose was back in the book already but there was a hint of a smile behind it. “If it makes you feel any better, you look damn good that way.”

Dick felt his skin warm at the comment, the flush working through his skin and into his cheeks. He swallowed and tried to form a response, coming up short.

Slade hummed. “Finally something that made you quiet.”

~~~

Dick couldn’t believe he fell asleep until the sharp heat of a slap had him waking again. He was disoriented and confused which gave Slade the chance to cut the ties holding his wrists to the bed. “What…”

“I told you we were moving,” Slade said. He grabbed Dick’s chin and made him look at him. “Are you awake enough to hear me?”

Dick blinked, catching the darkness that had fallen in the bedroom. At some point, Slade had turned off the light and cracked the curtains. Moonlight gave the room a soft blue hue. He pulled himself into alertness and noted the seriousness in Slade’s eye. Dick nodded. “I’m listening.”

“I’m going to keep you untied. I’m going to let you walk beside me. I’m going to hold onto you and you aren’t going to fight. If you try to get someone’s attention, I will shoot them. If you try to speak to anyone, I will shoot them,” Slade said. “Do you understand me?”

Dick swallowed at the threat. Slade had been calm, relaxed – it was easy to forget he was a hired killer.

Easy to forget he’d been hired to kill Dick.

He nodded. “I understand.”

Under the moonlight, Dick could see the faint shape of a bruise on his skin. The same size as Slade’s hand which covered the spot and made the bruise disappear. At least to the eye, it flared to a soreness from Slade’s grip as he was yanked to his feet.

Dick had missed coming in but now he saw it was a motel room, like he’d originally thought. Slade pulled him down the staircase and out into the parking lot. The chill of the night air hit his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of the hand on his arm. He was still bare chested from when he’d stripped his shirt off at his apartment. Clearly Slade didn’t seem too worried.

“Black SUV. Dead ahead,” Slade said.

Dick saw it, immediately started heading for the passenger side. Slade yanked him back and pulled him to the driver’s side. He opened the door. “Get in, kid.”

Dick hesitated and then climbed inside, sighing when another zip tie came out and Slade attached Dick’s left wrist to the steering wheel. “I’m pretty sure this is dangerous.”

“Good incentive not to crash,” Slade replied. He pulled the tie tight and then closed the door.

Dick looked around the car. It was clean except for some dirt on the edges of the carpet. Vacuumed but not well. A rental, maybe?

Slade climbed in the passenger seat and put the keys in the ignition to start the car. “Back out and go to the edge of the parking lot. Take a left.”

“Where are we going?” Dick asked.

Slade looked at him and repeated. “Edge of the parking lot. Take a left.”

Dick backed out of the spot and listened to Slade’s directions.

 

**DAY TWO**

They drove for hours, Dick glanced at the dashboard clock several times during the drive and watched as the sun rose steadily over the horizon at roughly half past seven in the morning. Dick yawned. “Don’t do that.”

Dick looked over before turning his eyes back to the road. “Someone woke me during the middle of the night. I’m tired.”

“I would think you’d have more important things to worry about than your sleep schedule,” Slade replied.

Dick shrugged. “Why?”

Slade glanced at him and then fell quiet again, even as Dick yawned for a second time.

The directions started coming again after driving extendedly on the highway. He took an exit into Metropolis and navigated the complicated city streets. “Was this Luthor’s idea?”

“He wanted you out of Wayne’s territory,” Slade said, as explanation.

The city faded, businesses replaced by cookie cutter suburban houses. Farther, until the corn fields stretched on and on. Slade motioned to a house with an old barn and pulled him to a stop just outside the open barn doors. “Drive inside.”

Dick did and then parked and shut the car off as directed. Slade got out of the car and walked to Dick’s side to cut the tie and free his hand. Dick rubbed his wrist where the tie had left an indent in his skin. “Where are we?”

“Not Gotham,” Slade said. “Get out of the car.”

Dick followed him out of the barn and then Slade was grabbing Dick by the arm again and pulling him towards the house. “Can you stop the yanking and pulling? I haven’t run yet.”

“Yet,” Slade said. “I have no plans to underestimate a patient spider.”

It was weird to be compared to the victorious spider, when Dick felt more like the helpless fly caught in a web.

The farmhouse screen door creaked as it was opened. Slade pulled a keychain from his pocket holding at least a dozen keys. He seemed to know which to use immediately as there was no hesitation or searching before he stuck one in the lock, twisted, and opened the door.

It was clean, if sparse, and Dick was guided inside where Slade finally let go of his arm. Dick turned in time to see another lock, this time on the inside of the door, using another one of the keys.

An outside lock to keep strangers out, but the inside lock could serve no purpose but to keep Dick in.

“The nearest house is four miles,” Slade said, intentionally leaving off a direction. “You’re barefooted, running across farmland, and the air gets cooler out here than it does in Gotham during the evenings. Don’t run, because if you die out there I will leave your body for whatever creatures slink out of the woods to eat your remains.”

“Thanks for the image,” Dick replied.

He stepped further into the house, curiosity dragging him towards the windows which shared similar locks to the one on the door. He also noted the seemingly one modern aspect of the house as the wires that resembled a security system. Again, undoubtedly to keep Dick inside. He walked across the hard wood floor of the living room and into the dining room and looked out the window there as well. The barn doors were closed, hiding the car they’d driven inside. Dick spun. “Is there someone else here?”

Slade watched him for a moment and then walked out of the room.

Dick turned back around to look at the barn and the closed doors and the freedom just outside the window. There had to be someone here. The barn doors wouldn’t close all by themselves. Perhaps whoever was here, would be more willing to assist Dick in escaping. He walked away and went to explore the upstairs.

Night fell once more and Slade had made rounds to check on Dick as he wandered around the house. He had finally settled in a bedroom and, while Dick could hear movement and see light, Dick used the opportunity to sneak downstairs. His heart pounded in his chest, seeming too loud. Loud enough that Slade would be able to hear it.

Dick picked up the dining room chair. He glanced at the window, the closed barn doors, the cornfield. Two miles to the nearest house – Dick had run track in high school, he’d make it.

The chair leg splintered after the heavy sound of the wood bouncing off the window. Bouncing, not breaking. Dick slammed it against the window again only to find the same results. Footsteps on the stairs had Dick tensing and looking for an exit again.

“Boy,” Slade bellowed.

Dick spun and dug through the drawers in search of a knife. They were empty, bare. The larger body of his captor pressed against him from behind and grabbed Dick’s wrists. “Let go!”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Slade demanded.

Dick jerked, throwing his arm back and feeling his fist catch Slade in the face. The hands let go of him and Dick felt a burst of hope only for Slade to spin him around. Dick heard the crack before he felt the pain of the backhand set fire to his cheek. “Settle down! Now!”

Dick covered his cheek with his hand and glanced at Slade who was glaring from his single blue eye.

“The windows are bulletproof and certainly chair proof. If you want to get out of here, it will be over my dead body,” Slade said. He grabbed Dick’s chin between his fingers. “Make me tell you that again and I’ll break something. Understood?”

Dick remained silent which made Slade shake him. “Do you understand me or not?”

“I understand…” Dick said quietly.

“Go upstairs,” Slade ordered, letting go of his chin to shove Dick towards the stairs.

At the top, Slade dragged him to a room and pushed him inside. The door slammed behind him and Dick heard a click. Slade’s footsteps led away from the door. Dick walked over, face still burning from the slap, and tried the door only to find it locked and securely shut.

He sat down on the provided bed and looked down at his hands. He pulled a splinter out of his right palm and brushed the blood away with his left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still think this is a weird fic. Warnings for forced nonsexual nudity, forced nonsexual touching, and violence.

**DAY THREE**

Dick didn’t sleep this time. As much as he wanted to, as much as fatigue made his eyes burn and his muscles weary, he found himself tossing and turning on the bed. Maybe it was the dusty smell that permeated the air or the gloomy rain that had picked up during the night to pound against the roof. Either way, Dick stared up at the ceiling and waited as the time passed slowly by.

At some point, Dick climbed off the bed and grabbed the wooden chair by the desk to pull it over by the window. He pulled his feet up onto the chair, watching from the window as the darkness brightened with the rise of the sun. It was still raining, but the sky faded from a dark, ominous charcoal to a soft slate gray.

Scratching noises came from the outside of the door and Dick twisted to see the door open and Slade standing on the other side with the key in his hand. “Kid. Breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Dick said. To which his stomach weighed in with a rumble of a growl.

“Sounds like you are,” Slade said with an amused smirk.

Dick shrugged. “I don’t want to eat.”

Slade’s smirk faded, lips thinning. “Well, it’s not an option. Get up and come downstairs.”

“I don’t want to eat,” Dick repeated, turning around again and facing the window again. It startled him when there was a hand around his upper arm, wrenching him onto his feet. “Leave me alone.”

“So you can throw a pity party and starve yourself up here?” Slade asked. He dragged Dick out of the room and down the stairs.

“I’m not throwing a pity party,” Dick said, pulling back as much as he could. He managed to slip out of Slade’s grasp but only fell back onto the stairs. “I don’t want to eat. I want to get the hell out of here.”

Slade lifted his hand again, prepared no doubt to backhand Dick as he had the night before. Instead of following through, however, he stared at Dick who glared back at him. No sign of fear. Slade’s hand lowered down to his side. “Get up, Grayson.”

Dick climbed up onto his feet but he didn’t head down the stairs.

“Do you think I’m playing around? You’re going to eat or I’ll force feed you,” Slade said.

Dick glared silently, still not moving.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Slade demanded. “I don’t need you cooperative to force your guardian to do what Luthor wants. I need you alive, hooked up to machines, in a medically induced coma, eating through a tube if that’s what it takes. I’m sure that’ll make killing you easier. Won’t need you to wake up for that. And the image should do well in making it clear to your former guardian that Luthor isn’t messing around.”

Bruce had to be feeling enough guilt – twice over, since he would blame himself for Dick’s kidnapping and then again if he was actually forced to lose the trial.

Dick finally averted his gaze and forced himself to walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. He took a seat in the kitchen chair and let Slade set a plate down in front of him. “Better.”

“I could do without the praise,” Dick muttered.

“Eat,” Slade ordered.

Dick sighed and picked up the fork set down next to dig into the eggs. They weren’t awful, better than anything Dick could cook but that was a low bar to set. There wasn’t much to them, which reminded Dick of his original thought that Slade seemed like a military man. Practicality first. It was a sentiment that Dick thought Bruce shared.

“Someone is going to notice me missing,” Dick said between bites of food. “Even if Bruce doesn’t go to the police, someone will.”

Slade huffed a breath.

“And you can’t kill me then. Not without losing your leverage over Bruce,” Dick said.

“Is that so?” The man sounded bored.

Dick set the fork down. “My coworkers. My friends. People who know Bruce and-“

“No one is going to question your absence,” Slade said finally. He looked up with that single blue eye. “The little gypsy with wanderlust and itchy feet? You couldn’t stay in the lap of luxury with your guardian. You’ve disappeared off the face of the earth before. Your travels have been the subject of newspaper headlines. Wayne will cover anything else, because he should know it’s not in your best interest for someone to be looking for you.”

Dick was silent.

“Did you think I didn’t do my research?” Slade asked. “Men like Luthor do not hire amateurs to take care of their business. I know more about you than _you_ do. I know more about your friends and your family than you do. I know how to keep you here indefinitely without attention from the authorities.”

“You’re not as smart as you think you are,” Dick said.

Slade stood and smirked when Dick instantly tensed. He stalked over and put his hand on Dick’s shoulder. The younger man reached up to grab Slade’s wrist to pull it off and then dropped his hand when Slade squeezed hard enough to make him wince. He leaned close to Dick’s ear. “I’m still smarter than you, kid.”

Dick grabbed the fork and jabbed back, aiming for the face and throat somewhere behind him. Thick fingers wrapped around Dick’s wrist tightly, pressing hard against a part of his wrist that spasmed and made him drop the fork into his lap.

Slade let go of Dick’s shoulder and leaned forward, fingers brushing against Dick’s thigh as he picked up the fork. “I’m going to give you one more chance with this, kid, and then we’ll switch over to finger foods permanently.”

No response as Dick’s hand was forced open and the fork placed back in it.

“Do we have an understanding?” Slade prompted. Dick didn’t speak, choosing the option with more pride that just had him adjusting his grip on it to return to eating his food. The older man chuckled and stepped away. “Good.”

Dick didn’t bother looking up as the footsteps led away and out of the room. He didn’t have to. Slade had such a presence Dick simply knew he’d exited the room. His grip tightened around the fork, eyes squeezing shut as frustration welled up inside of him like a boiling pot waiting to break out. The tongs drove into the wood of the table as Dick slammed it down. When he let go of the metal the fork stood on its own, vibrating from the force Dick had used to drive it into the table.

~~~

“Follow me,” Slade ordered.

Dick was curled up on the couch with a book. Some mystery novel by a writer that Dick had never heard of with a jerk for a main character. The guy smoke more, drank more, and buried himself between the legs of every women he met than anyone Dick had ever even heard of. He was a jerk to the bad guys, his allies, and the victims alike.

He was an ass.

And there was another one standing in the doorway. Dick looked up. “I’m reading.”

“Boy,” Slade warned.

Dick folded down the corner of the book and set it on the end table, dragging himself to his feet. The hardwood floor was still so cold against his bare feet but he was getting used to it. And he didn’t see Slade offering him shoes or socks anytime soon, not when Dick was easier to keep inside this way. It would be hard to make a run for it when he’d have to move barefoot across unfamiliar land in the cold.

“What?” Dick demanded, as he followed him up the stairs.

“Don’t take that tone of voice with me,” Slade said. He grabbed Dick’s arm and pushed him inside an unfamiliar room. “I have clothes coming for you, but for now you need a shower.”

“It’s not my fault I’ve been stuck in the same clothes for three days,” Dick said.

“I didn’t say it was,” Slade said. “However, your guardian-“

“ _Former_ guardian,” Dick corrected.

“-is going to need another video for proof of life,” Slade finished, as if Dick had never interrupted.

“So?” Dick asked.

Slade pushed him further into the room. It was well maintained and orderly. Cleaned, the bed made with the same military precision that Dick was coming to get used to from his captor. It reminded him of the man that Dick could only come to the conclusion that this was the room Slade was using during their stay here. “You said it yourself. This is a long term situation. Trials like these can last months or years. I’m not going to put up with the smell of you not showering for all of that time. Not to mention that if Wayne is half the father-“

“Former legal guardian,” Dick corrected.

“- that the news proclaims him to be then he’ll expect some level of care taken with you,” Slade said. “I’m not risking this job over your showering schedule.”

Dick stepped back and stumbled where the hardwood floor switched to the cheap linoleum of the bathroom and Slade followed him right in. The door was closed behind them. “You’re planning to kill me.”

“And?” Slade asked.

“What’s the point?” Dick demanded bitterly. His lips curled to showcase his scorn. “It’s not going to matter if you’re only going to kill me anyways.”

Slade pulled the shower curtain open.

“Are you listening to me? What’s the point?” Dick asked.

Slade turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you fight me on every subject?”

“Why not?” Dick asked.

Death was inevitable. Escape was impossible. Fighting earned him nothing, cost him a slap on the wrist. What were bruises when Dick was facing certain execution?

Dick had nothing to lose.

“Your _former guardian_ doesn’t know that you don’t have a chance to get out of this,” Slade said. “Which leaves us here, proving that you’re being well taken care of.”

“I don’t want a shower,” Dick said. He wanted Bruce to know that there was no chance at him getting out of here. He wanted the man to know that eventually the trial would be over, and Slade would use that big knife on his leg to cut Dick’s neck. Maybe leave his body in the cornfield to act as fertilizer. He wanted Bruce to burn Lex to the ground for dragging Dick into something that had nothing to do with him - because it didn’t matter.

Slade arched an eyebrow. “Unfortunate. Get in the shower.”

Dick didn’t move.

“Last warning,” Slade said.

Dick still didn’t move and the resigned sigh on Slade’s lips made Dick’s hackles rise. It sounded like that of someone dealing with a disobedient child and Dick wasn’t that. The slap across his face was expected, though still painful. He saw it coming, moved as much as he could, but still ended up with his cheek on fire. He didn’t expect the man’s hands on him again. Dick was still in his jeans from the first night and Slade shoved him into the wall before popping the button and unzipping them to pull them down his legs. The boxers went with them and Dick felt the embarrassment of having been stripped before Slade dragged him forward, forcing him to step out.

Bare wrists were pulled up and a zip tie was pulled out that pulled his wrists tight against the shower head. He tugged to no avail, the usual lack of give only serving to limit circulation in his hands.

The water, when Slade turned it on, was ice cold and Dick jolted as far as he was able to in an attempt to escape it. “Fuck.”

“You could have enjoyed a warm shower. Now we’ll do it my way,” Slade said.

Dick shivered under the stream and then again under the gaze of a single, ice blue eye. “F-fine.” He shivered again. The water was so cold his skin felt like it was burning, painful lines of the water running down sensitive skin he was helpless to protect.

“Too late for that, kid,” Slade said. “You need a little discipline if this is going to work.”

He almost managed to sound sympathetic. Almost.

A rag was pulled out, soap poured into it. Slade did a quick but efficient job of soaping up Dick’s chest and arms. The younger man thought Slade would leave it at that but then the rag went lower and Dick nearly slipped on the bottom of the tub in his attempt to flee. “Stop!”

“Stand still. The faster we get this over with, the better,” Slade said. There was nothing inappropriate about the touch, Slade was purely clinical in getting him clean. Nonetheless, it was unwanted. The rag finally left the area that made Dick’s insides squirm with panic and cleaned down his legs. When he was finished, the rag was thrown to the end of the tub and a hand on Dick’s chest pushed him back enough to let the cold water run down his front to clear him of soap. He sputtered and shivered. “Next time, do what I tell you.”

Dick nodded frantically.

He sagged with relief when the water cut off. It ran down bare skin and dripped onto the floor of the tub, flinging off of him in droplets when he shook involuntarily from the cold. Made all the worse by the way he couldn’t curl up to seek warmth. The curtain was drawn back so Dick was forced to stand still as the drafts in the big farmhouse brushed over already tortured skin. “Please.”

Slade wore no expression as he pulled the knife out and cut the zip tie. He grabbed Dick’s chin and forced him to look him in the eye and Dick first rubbed his wrists and then wrapped his arms around himself. “Don’t ever take that attitude with me again. Do you understand? I don’t need your permission. Letting you take a shower without assistance is a privilege. Understood?”

Dick couldn’t nod with Slade holding his chin like that so he sucked in a breath and shakily replied, “Un-un-under…st-stood.” The word was warped by Dick’s teeth clattering together but it was still understandable. Slade glared at him a moment and then let him go.

A towel was thrown at him, white, and Dick wrapped it around him.

“Dry off,” Slade ordered.

There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted to dry off his naked body in front of the man but he supposed they were past that. And Dick didn’t really want to piss the man off any further right now. He pulled the towel off and started drying off body parts, doing his best to cover what he could despite having lost his dignity at the beginning.

Slade’s rough, calloused hand wrapped around the back of his neck and walked him out into the bedroom. Dick knew that Slade had never left the bathroom but there were clothes folded on the edge of the bed that hadn’t been there before. A pair of thin pants like sleep pants and a tank top.

No socks and shoes, just like Dick had expected. At least he had a shirt now but Dick noted that the clothes were hardly sufficient for the weather. Running outside in that, Dick was more likely to get hypothermia than escape to freedom.

“No underwear?” Dick asked.

“You’ll survive,” Slade said.

Dick dropped his gaze back to the clothes and then dropped the towel on the floor to pull on the items provided to him. The pants were a little big but there was a drawstring that he pulled tight and tied. The tank top fit well, if loose. The clothes made him feel that much smaller when standing next to Slade.

Dick was still shaking from the cold and rubbing his hand over the bruise undoubtedly blooming on his cheek. He could feel the tenderness which was a good indicator, despite being unable to see a mirror. Slade held open the door and Dick stepped out into the hallway. The man grabbed his upper arm again and led him down the stairs. This time, instead of stopping on the main floor, Slade reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He stood between Dick and the door, not letting the young man see which key he was using. Inside was a set of rickety wooden stairs that led to a darkness Dick could only assume was the basement.

“Walk,” Slade said.

Dick grabbed the railing and took the first step, listening to the wood creak with his descent into the darkness. He stood in the shadows, the darkness twisting as his eyes sought any form of light. He heard rather than saw Slade move and then the lightbulb turned on with a click and swung back and forth from the ceiling. Dick had to blink to adjust his vision.

There was a laptop, the same laptop from before if Dick had to guess, and a single wooden chair against a plain white wall. “Sit.”

“What are we-“

“Sit,” Slade ordered again.

Dick dropped into the chair without another word.

From this angle, Dick could see the mask beside the computer as well as a strip of material that looked like a gag. Slade pulled more zip ties out of his pocket and set them down beside the laptop as well. “I’m done fighting you. If you resist, I’m going to shoot you in the knee.”

“Got it,” Dick said softly and without prompting. He didn’t even flinch as Slade zip tied his wrists to the arms of the chair and his ankles to the two front legs of it. He’d been right about the gag and it was tied behind his head before the mask went on and Slade sent a message on his phone.

“Now we wait.”

They didn’t have to wait for long.

The call rang through and Bruce’s face filled the screen. Dick recognized his office – his degree on the wall, the pictures of Bruce with important people. A few framed photos of Dick and his brothers up beside them.

“Dick?” Bruce asked.

Dick grunted, nodding before Slade’s hands were in his hair and pulling back. Dick’s neck arched with the motion. “Wayne, you can direct your questions to me.”

Bruce’s eyes snapped up to him. “You need to let him go.”

“That’s not a question,” Slade said. “And if you’re going to waste time on your calls like that, we can stop them.”

Bruce’s lips thinned but he didn’t speak.

“You have proof of life,” Slade said. He still hadn’t let go of Dick’s hair. “Have you contacted anyone?”

Irritation flashed in his eyes. “You made it very clear what would happen if I did.”

Dick’s hair was pulled tighter, the arch to his neck more prominent. “That wasn’t an answer, Wayne. Yes or no, have you contacted anyone.”

“No,” Bruce said. “But your… employer, contacted me.”

There was a twitch to Slade’s fingers that Dick registered as annoyance. “None of my business.”

“He wanted to boast,” Bruce added, without being asked. “I’m just waiting for him to boast to the wrong person.”

Silence.

“These trials run for a long time,” Bruce said. “Can he keep his mouth shut long enough for you to complete this job and get paid?”

Silence.

“Or will he sell you out before you get the chance to get away clean?” Bruce asked.

Dick felt the tap of Slade’s thumb against his scalp. Then the older man replied calmly, “That’s under the assumption that my employer knows enough to sell me out at all.” He pulled and twisted Dick’s head to the side, using his free hand wrap around Dick’s neck. “I have the boy, Wayne, and Luthor has no idea where I’m at. I have all the leverage here. You’ll do what you’re told or I’ll make you watch while I kill him.”

Bruce didn’t react beyond a narrowing of his eyes. Not anger, consideration. Weighing the new information and trying to determine what could be done with it.

“If Luthor goes down, I will still have your son,” Slade warned. “And you will still be dealing with me for his release.”

Dick pulled at his restraints and earned a cuff to the back of the head for his troubles.

“You don’t have to hurt him,” Bruce said. When Dick looked over, the man’s eyes were on the bruise on his cheek.

“Relax, Wayne. It’s nothing that won’t heal,” Slade said. “If your boy listened when I told him to I wouldn’t have had to bruise that pretty face of his.”

Bruce was quiet and then, “Dick, just do what he says. I’m working on getting you out.”

Dick glared at him. There was no out. Dick was a dead man walking, bait to string Bruce along. The man didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Behave? Dick jerked in his restraints again.

“I’ll contact you again in a few days,” Slade said.

Bruce didn’t look pleased to have the call over already but he didn’t argue as Slade ended the call. The knife came out, the zip ties were cut. Dick flung a punch at Slade’s face. It connected and so did the next one. Slade threw him on the floor and slammed the toe of his boot into Dick’s side. He grunted and curled around it, only to catch another kick in his open side. Slade knelt down and wrapped his fingers around Dick’s neck to keep him down. It wasn’t a real pin, Dick’s arms and legs free, but enough to try and get Dick to think again.

“Boy, think real careful about what you’re doing,” Slade said.

Dick panted, trying to catch his breath when his sides were screaming in pain. “I want to go home.”

“Tough,” Slade barked. “Settle. Now.”

Dick didn’t move, the fight taken out of him with the helplessness of the situation. Fighting Slade would be hard and even if he did win, he’d have to escape the locked house and somehow make it several miles barefoot in weather so cold that snow was imminent.

The hand lifted off his neck and Dick rolled over onto his knees, arms wrapped around his vulnerable stomach. Something about seeing Bruce made this harder. Knowing the man who had seemed capable of anything once upon a time proven to be very much human, weak. It was just a painful reminder of how trapped Dick really was.

“Get up, kid,” Slade said. There was less gruffness to his tone. Almost soft, almost sympathetic. Almost. Dick reluctantly let go of his stomach and pulled himself to his feet. Fingers grabbed his chin again, forcing him to look up. Slade sighed. “This would be a lot easier if you would learn to accept it.”

“Go to hell,” Dick muttered.

Slade tapped his thumb against Dick’s jaw. “I like your spirit, kid, but I’m being paid for a job. You’re going to lose.”

~~~

Dick was locked in the bedroom again. There was a bathroom in there, Dick hadn’t even bothered to open the door to last time. Toilet, no bath. Dick found a cheap comb and a toothbrush. Toothpaste, provided. No razors. No scissors. Nothing that would be remotely useful. He pulled his tank top up to look in the mirror and found two bruises, deep purple in color, on either side of his abdomen. They stretched out from point of impact and distorted Dick’s naturally tan skin with shades of blue, black, and green. He lowered the tank top and brushed his teeth before climbing into bed.

**Day Four**

Dick finished the mystery novel.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Day Five**

Circuses were always moving. While the performances were bright, beautiful, and breathtaking – the real miracle wasn’t in the way Dick and his parents had seemed to fly without wings through the air. It was in the magic of a circus tent that appeared one night out of nowhere and disappeared to leave nothing behind by trampled grass and a stray peanut shell in the dirt.

Dick had long grown used to roaring applause followed by the sharp barked orders of getting things together to move again. He’d learned to love the constant motion, the roll of the earth beneath his feet as they marked an unseen path all over the country.

Up early, up late, sleeping in the middle of the day with the sun streaming through the thin hand sewn curtains covering the windows of their trailer.

That’s why he was up now, looking out of the window of his locked bedroom since he’d be stuck in here until Slade decided to wake up and let him out. There was frost on the grass, the first that Dick knew of. Snow would be coming soon.

The Christmases in Gotham were always white. Dick would be free by then, though. Someone would come looking for him and find him before Thanksgiving, let alone Christmas.

Dick sat up a little straighter as a shape moved across the grounds. It was still dark enough out that he couldn’t even make out gender but he recognized it as human and more so as a human bundled in the warmth of a thick coat. They were slender, too small to be Slade. The shape moved across the frost covered grass and disappeared into the barn. Dick watched with baited breath and waited for the shape to leave the barn again, hoping for a better look.

“It’s not coyote season,” Slade said. “So I have to wonder what you’re looking at.”

Dick hadn’t heard the key in the lock like he usually did, so Slade’s sudden presence made him jump. He turned to see the man, standing just inside the doorway. Then he turned back to the window and looked at the barn. “There was someone out there.”

Too late, Dick wondered if it was someone looking for him. Slade, however, seemed unperturbed by the news. “Wintergreen.”

“Who?” Dick asked, still watching the barn.

“My associate, of a sort,” Slade said.

The barn doors being closed, the clean clothes laid out after the shower. Things Dick had been unable to explain were the apparent acts of an unseen man behind the scenes. “What? He doesn’t like strangers?”

“I don’t trust you,” Slade replied, voice suddenly right behind him.

Dick turned again, looking up at Slade who had moved across the room to almost cage him against the windows. Slade didn’t trust him. While that wasn’t all too surprising to Dick, it was strange to hear it voiced. Slade was confident enough to let Dick have almost free reign of the house, unless the man was sleeping, and still let him use forks and knives to eat. But he wasn’t confident enough to let him around this Wintergreen person. “He’s important to you.”

Slade grabbed Dick’s shoulder and pushed him back until Dick was pressed against the window. The glass was cold against his bare neck and shoulders. “You don’t have the stomach to hurt someone, kid, so don’t try to play mind games. It’s a threat we both know you won’t follow through on.”

Dick pushed Slade’s hand away. “I never said I would hurt him.”

The fact that Slade didn’t smack him or push him into the window again felt like a good sign. Instead Dick got the same steely gaze treatment from the eye not covered by an eye patch.

“How did you lose your eye?” Dick asked, abruptly.

Slade’s eye narrowed and then he turned and walked towards the door. “Downstairs, now. If you want to eat, you’ll get a move on.”

Dick glanced back at the window and the empty field. This man, this Wintergreen, didn’t make another appearance and so Dick left the room to follow Slade down the stairs. There was another meal prepared but unlike the eggs, simple in nature, this was a full spread of seasoned bacon, eggs with cheese, and French toast complete with powdered sugar.

Dick paused at the bottom of the stairs, eyes following the spread of food over the dinner table. “I assume this breakfast wasn’t prepared by Chef Slade.”

Slade grunted in reply, close enough to sounding like an affirmative.

“Wintergreen?” Dick said, testing the name.

Slade turned and motioned towards the chair. He didn’t answer, but that seemed answer enough.

There was a plate sat in front of him. Fork, spoon, butter knife. A hand on his shoulder. “Yesterday was better. Keep it that way.”

Dick looked up, confused, and then back to the food in front of him. A complete one eighty from the simple meals Slade had been making. Plain eggs. Plain chicken. A sandwich of nothing but meat and bread. And then it hit him, this was a reward. Better food for better behavior, for not fighting.

As if Dick were nothing more than a child or a pet that could be trained with good food and a bell.

“I don’t want this,” Dick said.

Slade arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t want this,” Dick repeated. “I’m not some dog you can train to behave.”

Slade doesn’t even bother to deny it. “You’re not?”

Dick made a face and stood, pushing away to walk back upstairs.

Slade doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to. “We’ve had this conversation. I tire of repeating myself to you.”

Force feed him. Medically induced coma. The guilt on Bruce watching Dick kept subdued by machines pumping the drugs into him to keep him asleep and vulnerable.

Dick remembered but he felt trapped. Claustrophobic. His chest grew tight, air suddenly seemed like such a rare commodity – there certainly wasn’t enough in the room. He grabbed the edge of the table when his knees started shaking.

Even his skin tingled.

Why couldn’t he breathe?

There was a hand on his back and Dick looked up, gasping desperately because his lungs just wouldn’t take in air. He found Slade there, guiding him towards the other room and pushing him down on the couch.

“I c-can’t breathe,” Dick said. He wrapped his hand around his throat and placed the other on his chest where his heart was jackhammering violently. “I can’t… can’t…”

“Relax,” Slade ordered.

That was easier to say than do. “I can’t.” He felt dizzy, head spinning.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Slade replied. His voice remained calm, a calm that Dick envied. “Panicking more is only going to make it worse. You have to relax. Hold your breath.”

“H-hold my br-breath?” Dick demanded. He couldn’t breathe enough as it was.

“Hold it,” Slade said, inflecting it differently to give it the weight of an order. Dick gasped again, chest jumping like a hyperactive frog, and then nodded. He closed his lips, sealing them together, and held the air in his chest. Meanwhile, Slade kept talking in that calm, even tone of his. “It’s not a matter of not taking in enough air. You’re breathing out too much and it’s giving you the sensation of not taking in enough. Hold your breath.”

Dick waited until his chest stopped jumping and just ached from holding in the air and then let out a shaky breath. It still felt tight, his skin still tingled, but he no longer felt like he was dying.

“Breath in until I tell you to stop,” Slade ordered. “Now.”

Dick inhaled, silently counting to keep track.

One.

Two.

Three.

Slade was rubbing circles on Dick’s knee. He’d been too panicked to notice that before.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

“Exhale,” Slade ordered.

Dick counted again. He reached eleven before Slade ordered him to inhale once again. The older man had him repeat that process, telling him when to breathe in and out and Dick followed the words faithfully. The man never grew impatient or irritated, staying the perfect example of relaxation for Dick to follow.

“You can breathe,” Slade said, giving both an assurance and permission to breathe on his own. His hand stopped rubbing Dick’s knee but it didn’t lift yet. “How are you feeling?”

Dick ran a hand through his hair. “Sore. Exhausted.”

“You will for a while,” Slade said. He stood, hand leaving his knee. There was a faint heat from where the man’s hand had been. “Can you get up and eat now?”

Dick bent down, resting his head in his hands for a moment.

“Grayson?” Slade asked.

“Just a minute.” Dick could still hear how breathy he sounded and he hated it. Hated sounding weak. “Why?”

“Why what?” Slade asked.

“Why did you…” Dick motioned towards himself. “Help?”

The wooden floorboards creaked as the older man walked back towards the kitchen. “It’s just a job, kid. It’s just a job.”

It _was_ just a job. Dick wouldn’t die from a panic attack. Slade could have reacted any way to Dick losing it the way he did and he’d chosen to react calmly and helpfully.

Dick took another few minutes, listening to the clock on the wall tick away his time there. He stood and walked across the floor to the kitchen again. The food was still there, still waiting. Slade was drinking from a mug of coffee. He showed no anger at Dick having freaked out on him.

“Thanks,” Dick muttered. Slade didn’t reply, just set a cup of coffee on the table. Upon closer inspection, Dick realized it wasn’t coffee at all but a cup of hot chocolate. The better to calm his slowly steadying heartrate. Dick glanced up but Slade was already facing the window. Dick stared at the table again and then reached forward, pulling French toast onto the plate in front of him.

**Day Six**

The night was cold. Not that Slade didn't keep the heater running, and Dick would hear the noises it made during the night when he woke to use the restroom, but the house was an old farmhouse and it seemed to let the cold air from the outside too easily. Which is how Dick ended up sitting on the bed with the blanket wrapped around him but still just a touch too cold to comfortably fall asleep. He'd searched the closet and the drawers in the room but there was nothing there in the way of extra blankets in the room, so he was sitting and looking out the window.

A knock at the door had Dick looking up. Slade didn't knock. If the man wanted to come in, he unlocked the door and walked into the room. "Slade?"

The locks scraped metal against metal and then the door opened to an unfamiliar man in the doorway. He was older than Slade, but not by a lot. In his hands were clothes- no, not just clothes. A blanket. "Richard?"

"Dick," he corrected immediately. "I go by Dick."

"Ah," the man said. Dick thought he might have seen a smile. "I think I may stick with Richard."

Dick found his own lips quirking up at that.

"May I come in?" the man asked.

Dick swept his arm out. "It's not really my decision."

The man sighed. "I am not Slade, Richard. If you don't wish me to enter, I'll leave these at the door."

"And then lock me in again," Dick said, bitterly. The man didn't reply to that. "You must be Wintergreen."

"I'm surprised he even mentioned me," Wintergreen replied.

"I saw you walk into the barn," Dick said. "I guess he wanted to crush any hope I had for a rescue."

"May I come in?" Wintergreen pressed again.

Dick didn't reply for a moment and then shrugged. "Yeah, you can come in."

The man stepped into the room and laid the blanket and clothes on the bed. "While I am highly fond of Slade, I am not so unaware as to think he would remember to give you an extra blanket to combat the cold. There are also warmer clothes for pajamas and clothes to change into in the morning."

"Thanks," Dick said, leaning down and pulling the blanket up. He unfolded it and covered up with it, closing his eyes at the sudden warmth and comfort stemming from the blanket. "Christ, it's so cold out."

"And only going to get colder. Probably the worst part about living out here in the countryside. Beautiful scenery but the air gets so much chillier than it does in the city," Wintergreen said.

"Yeah. I used to travel with my parents when I was younger. Trailers don't keep much of the cold out either," Dick said. "But back then it was the three of us and during the winter months they'd let me crawl into bed with them and we'd cover up together. Mama would pull the blankets back and let me squeeze in between the two of them. My Dad would pretend to be asleep but then when he thought I was asleep, he'd kiss my forehead."

It was a memory of being safe and secure, warm and connected.

Wintergreen said nothing and Dick realized he'd ended up rambling. "Sorry."

"No need to be sorry," Wintergreen replied.

"You could tell someone-"

The older man's shoulders tightened, back stiffening. Shutters closed behind his eyes and the warm if reserved feeling he'd gotten was replaced by a cold that was all too similar to Slade's. "No, I don't think that I could."

Dick curled his fingers into the blanket. "This is illegal."

"It's Slade's job," Wintergreen said. "And whatever my feelings may be on the subject, I will not get in the way of him completing his job."

"He's going to kill me," Dick said. "And you plan to stand by while he does it."

Wintergreen was quiet, but Dick could see his Adam's apple bob and the way his fingers moved as if grasping for the answers. He took a step back and fished the keys out of his pocket. "I'm glad the blanket was suitable for you, Richard."

The door closed, the locks clicked into place, and the footsteps receded from the doorway and down the hall. Dick pulled the blanket up higher and under his chin before laying his head down on the pillow. There were several more hours of dark and cold to settle through, and Dick would prefer to be asleep for as many of them as he could be.

~~~

In the morning, Dick woke to the sound of shouting from downstairs. Half of it was Slade's bellows, which Dick was familiar enough with from being on the receiving end of the man's anger. The other half was the more contained, but just as angry, shouts from what Dick could only assume was Wintergreen. Not that he'd ever heard the man yell, but there were only so many people to choose from when he'd only ever seen the two men out here.

"This is not what I agreed to, Slade!" Wintergreen shouted. They'd clearly been going at it for awhile.

Slade's response was rapid fire. "You're free to leave whenever you want, William."

"Do not distract from this, Slade. He is an innocent boy that you plan to murder in cold blood for a psychopath with a money clip," Wintergreen yellowed.

"It's none of your goddamn business who I take money from and what I take that money for," Slade bellowed.

A cacophony of noise rose from downstairs, disjointed and chaotic until Dick separated it into the sound of a door slamming and the footfalls of someone coming up the stairs.

Dick left the warmth of his own bed and walked across the floor to the window. The wooden boards under his feet were so cold they made his skin sting. He watched Wintergreen stalk from the house to the barn. That left only Slade to be the heavy footfalls walking up the stairs. Dick tensed in preparation for the door swinging open and bouncing against the wall. "Boy..."

Dick couldn't begin to figure out what he'd done to put that look on Slade's face.

"I told you not to talk to him," Slade growled.

Dick wished, suddenly, that he had not gotten out of bed. There had been something safe about being warm and wrapped in blankets that he didn't have any longer when Slade walked over and pressed one hand flat against his chest. Dick stumbled back, pinned to the wall from the force. His eyes grew wide. "What are you talking about?"

"Wintergreen. I thought I made it very clear that you were to mind your own goddamn business," Slade said. "Don't talk to him, don't bother him, don't ask questions about him. As far as you were to be concerned, he wasn't here."

"He came to me and offered blankets, I just-" Dick started.

Slade curled his hand into the shirt, thicker and long sleeved, that Wintergreen had brought during the night and pulled him closer only to slam him against the wall again. "Told him how this was going to end? Tried to convince him to let you go? Any of that sound familiar, Grayson?"

Dick swallowed. "I-"

Slade released Dick's shirt just to cover his mouth with the palm of his hand and squeeze his fingers into Dick's cheeks. "Don't make another excuse."

Dick brought his hands up and pushed against Slade's chest. He earned a reprieve of only one step back and Slade took that as his cue to backhand Dick across the face. Fire lit up his skin and he covered his cheek with his hand. "I'm sorry."

"I've been very lenient with you, boy. I've let you get away with more than I probably should. You knew you were crossing a line when you took advantage of him bringing you a blanket," Slade said. That was true. Dick had known that he was sneaking something by Slade that he'd hoped the man wouldn't find out about. Dick knew Slade wouldn't want him to say anything of the sort to Wintergreen and he'd done it anyway. "You shouldn't have settled for gratitude. I may have let the clothes and blankets slide."

Dick didn't understand until Slade grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off of him. The cold air hit his skin and Dick shivered. He smacked Slade's hands away when the man grabbed the waistband of the sweatpants to drag them down his hips. Slade knocked his chin up to glare into his eyes. "Fight me and I'll make it much worse, boy."

Dick swallowed and pulled his hands back. He cooperated in stepping out of the pants. "Slade, please. The house is freezing."

"Should have thought about that," Slade said. He grabbed the clothes in one hand and ripped the blankets off the bed. Both of them, not just the one Wintergreen had brought. The only covering he had left was a thin sheet that would do next to nothing to keep him warm. He stormed off, slamming the door shut behind him so hard it rattled. Dick shivered in the room and then walked over to the bed, climbing in and pulling the sheet up to his chin to keep as warm as he could.

Which wasn't much, not with the cold winds of the approaching winter howling outside and seeping through the cracks of an old house.

~~~

There was no knock this time. Dick was shivering, still, under the sheet and then the door suddenly opened and Wintergreen was there. Dick's eyes went to the man's shoulder, expecting Slade to be there. "Is he-"

"Quiet, boy," Wintergreen said, none of Slade's sharpness. His eyes were warm. "You know you're not supposed to speak to me."

And, apparently, now so did Wintergreen. Dick closed his lips.

Wintergreen walked into the room with a new blanket. Thicker than the original blanket but there was still only one of them instead of the two Slade had stolen. He threw it over Dick and the shivering slowed some as Dick's body began adjusting. He surprised Dick by sitting on the edge of the bed. "He's a good man."

Dick scoffed but still didn't speak.

"He is, but even good dogs will bite the hand of an owner that hits them. The world has not been kind to Slade," Wintergreen said. "He's a good man, deep down inside."

Dick stared at him.

Wintergreen seemed to sense the silent reply and amended, "Very deep."

Dick pulled the blanket up higher.

"No clothes, yet," Wintergreen said. "I'm sorry I cannot do more for you."

Dick's jaw clenched, another silent jab.

Wintergreen nodded and stood up. "I'm not sorry enough to do that."

The door closed behind him and the locks engaged once more. Dick wrapped the blanket around him and laid down against the pillow. His eyes closed and he fell asleep to the sound of the wind screaming outside the old farmhouse.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmm.... yeah. This one's weird I guess.
> 
> It finally started flowing and I went with it. Also, heads up that this is the first chapter where we start skipping days. That will be more common in the future.
> 
> Warnings for forced shaving of the face, forced touching, threats of violence, threats of death, and (I'm not really sure what to call this) a character talking about looking forward to death.
> 
> On an unrelated note, for anyone still reading this far... On July 25th of 2016, I lost my grandmother. Today, January 3rd, would have been her birthday. I loved that woman with all of my heart. She was a beautiful person and she constantly encouraged me to write more and continue to be the best writer I could be. She never really understand the fanfiction thing, I don't think, but that never stopped her from supporting me as best as she could. She never put it down. I dedicate this chapter to her today, on the note that when life is at it's darkest there is still a way to find a light. May she spend her birthday with the biggest cake and the happiest people. May she feel as special as she always was. May you all find the strength and perseverance to follow your dreams. Celebrate in peace, Nana. We love you always.

**Day Seven**

Most days, Dick woke first. It had been years since he’d been a part of the daily grind of the circus. Nearly two decades since he’d last put up the big tent with his family or rose early in the morning to begin training while the dew was still on the grass and the sun was little more than a red and orange tint on the sky.

Today Dick didn’t wake until a hand on his shoulder shook him from his dreams of soaring through the same red and orange morning sky.

“Grayson, wake up,” Slade ordered.

Dick blinked awake and then dragged his hand down his face to try and urge himself into awareness. He propped himself up on his arms and then sat up, just in time to take the clothes Slade had in his other hand. No long sleeve shirt and thick sweatpants like what Wintergreen had brought. They were back to thin lounge pants and a tank top once more. At least it was clothes, since sleeping naked – even beneath the blanket – had been a chilling experience during the night. “Thanks.”

“Get changed and hurry up,” Slade said.

Dick nodded, sliding out of the bed uncaring of how bare he was in front of Slade and pulling the clothes on once more. Again, he pulled the drawstring tight to keep the pants on his slender hips and when the tank top settled it was with one sleeve falling down his arm.

He jerked back when Slade’s hand reached towards him, not that the man seemed bothered. He just reached until Dick ran out of space to pull away and grabbed his chin. Slade’s thumb ran over his chin. “You need a shave.”

Dick reached up and felt his own cheek. It was rough, the stubble growing out well past his stage of comfort. “Yeah, well, there’s no razors and it’s been a week since you took me.”

Slade didn’t bother replying to that. Dick just felt the man rub his thumb against his jaw again. Then he let go and pulled back. “Move.”

Dick walked out and towards the stairs. Slade caught his arm again and pulled him back. “No.”

“What?” Dick asked.

Slade guided him away from the stairs and down to the other room. It was another one of the locked rooms. Slade’s room, Dick had guessed before. Slade unlocked the door and pushed Dick into the room. Much like Dick’s room there was a bathroom off of the bedroom. Unlike Dick’s room there was a razor on the sink.

“Sit on the toilet seat. Don’t fight me. Don’t argue. Don’t try something stupid,” Slade said.

Dick took a seat on the toilet seat, porcelain cool against his thighs even through the fabric of his pants. He shivered but did nothing but rest his hands in his lap. He tensed when Slade pulled out a zip tie.

“Do I need this?” Slade asked.

Dick swallowed and shook his head. He’d rather put up with whatever it was that Slade wanted than lose freedom of his limbs again. Slade pulled the towel off the metal rack and turned the water on until steam rose off of the running water, putting the towel under and letting the baby blue color turn dark as it soaked in the hot water. He flipped the water off with a finger and brought the towel over to Dick. He pressed it against his cheeks, mouth, and his neck. Dick licked his lips of the heated water droplets left there and kept his eyes on Slade as the man set the towel down. There was a brush on the sink counter beside a metal tin that Slade opened. He lathered up the brush and came back.

“No can?” Dick asked with a nervous chuckle.

“Consider me traditional,” Slade replied.

Dick swallowed and pressed his lips together as the lather was spread over his stubble. It smelled different than his own can of shaving cream at home. Not better, not worse, just different. Slade cleaned off the items already used and then picked up a razor that Dick recognized very vaguely from old movies as a straight razor. There was something far more dangerous looking about the straight razor in it’s big, sharp looking metal quality that didn’t happen in the multi-bladed one he had at home. “Wait…”

“Did Wayne not teach you to use a straight razor?” Slade asked.

Dick had felt lucky that Bruce had taught him to shave at all. “Not really.”

“Figures,” Slade replied. Dick started to stand but Slade’s hand was pressing on his shoulder to force him back down before he could even straighten his legs. “The more you move, the more I risk nicking you with this.”

Slade hadn’t hurt him, except for when he’d done something he shouldn’t have. But there was a far cry from being beaten downstairs for fighting – something that seemed at least somewhat even, despite Dick being sure that he didn’t have a chance. At least that was a _fight_. This was just Dick baring his neck so that Slade could bring a blade over it and trusting someone who had done absolutely nothing to earn it.

Dick’s chest tightened. He felt the threat of another panic attack on the edges of his mind and building in the confines of his lungs and-

“Breathe,” Slade ordered. “Just like I taught you to.”

Inhale for seven. Exhale for eleven. Dick nodded and closed his eyes, counting in his head and realizing that Slade had matched his breathing to Dick’s. It helped, a little.

“Are you ready?” Slade asked, when Dick had repeated the process a few times. Dick felt the air rush between his lips out and then he nodded.

The blade was pressed to his cheeks first. Up by the cheekbone and making a soft scratching noise as it was brought against the skin. It rolled, a sort of circular motion down against the skin and then up through the air and back to Dick’s cheek. A far different sensation from the smooth glide of the blade that he used for himself.

“My father taught me how to use a straight razor. Of course, my father also thought that any man who didn’t use a straight razor could hardly be called a man at all,” Slade said.

Slade had never told him anything as personal. The closest he got to a past was that thing with Wintergreen and the shouting downstairs. Slamming doors that meant something more.

Dick’s left cheek was finished and Slade moved onto the right. He finished that one in complete silence, and Dick was grateful for the silence when it came to his mouth and chin. There was a narrowed look in Slade’s gaze when he came to that part, and Dick could only imagine the difficulty involved in navigating the curves of the area.

Slade stepped away for a moment and Dick leaned over some to brush his finger over his cheek. It was smooth again, Slade’s hand meticulous even here. Dick knew which part was left, could still feel the weight of the lather on his neck, and he knew this would be the hardest part to stomach.

To his credit, Slade didn’t force the issue right away. He gave Dick a moment to get his bearings together before his fingers reached out and tilted Dick’s head back.

“Still,” Slade ordered.

Dick breathed out with each upward stroke. Slade’s hand never wavered, ever confident. And yet, something about the stroke. Something about the gentle pull against his skin, something about the sound like scratching against metal, and Dick felt the press of the blade against the center of his neck and pulled back.

Slade cursed and Dick’s skin stung. The older man grabbed his chin and jerked him forward again. Out of the corner of Dick’s eye, he could see the blade left on the edge of the counter. “You fool. Let me see your neck.”

Dick shivered at the sensation of something warm sliding down his neck. He leaned forward into Slade’s grip and let the man look and then grab a tissue to press against the nick on his skin.

“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” Slade’s voice seemed loud.

“Sorry,” Dick said.

“Don’t be sorry. Listen to what I tell you to do!” Slade snapped. “You’d have been fine if you’d just listened.”

Part of Dick knew that. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Slade made a gruff noise and for some weird reason, Dick thought for a moment he might have been forgiven. He tipped Dick’s head to make Dick look him in the eye. “Hold the tissue in place. I’m going to finish this. You’re going to stay still. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Dick said.

Slade shook his head. The red on the blade was wiped away with a swipe of another tissue and the tissue disposed of. He tipped Dick’s head back. “Don’t. Move.”

Dick held the tissue against his neck and closed his eyes again as the blade touched his neck again. In the beats of seven and then eleven, Slade seemed to finish in no time. Dick’s hand was replaced by Slade’s holding the tissue and then the man pulled it away. “You’ll live.”

“How exciting,” Dick murmured. He’d live for now.

Slade hesitated in his motions of cleaning the razor. He stepped over to Dick and crouched down. “Are you feeling alright?”

“My neck stings,” Dick answered.

“That’s not what I mean,” Slade said. “It’s a rush.”

“Getting a shave?” Dick asked.

“Having someone hold your life in their hands,” Slade replied.

Dick jittered under his skin. He leaned forward until Dick could feel the hint of Slade’s breath and said, “How did you lose your eye?”

There was no reaction. No expression. No anything. Slade stood and began putting the items away once again. “Do you want to learn how to use a straight razor?”

Dick laughed. “What’s the point? So I have a clean face when Bruce buries me? When are you going to answer my question?”

“I’ll tell you how I lost my eye when you learn how to use a straight razor,” Slade bargained.

Dick found himself smiling. “Then I want to learn how to use a straight razor.”

Slade grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him out to the hallway. Dick had to deal with a thorough pat down to make sure he hadn’t swiped anything from Slade’s bathroom and then he was sent down the stairs to eat.

 

**Day Nine**

The basement was just as cold as it was last time. Somehow Dick expected it to be colder but perhaps it just never any colder or warmer based on the outside. Dick didn’t have to be asked or instructed to sit down in the chair. He just did and the zip ties were put around his wrists and ankles. The gag was put in his mouth.

The sound of the call dragged his eyes to the computer and Bruce’s face filled the screen once again.

Nine days. Dick was keeping track. Nine days, and he was sure Bruce hadn’t shaved for any of them and showered for maybe half. He looked thin, too. Dick, even, looked better than Bruce did. He was nearly freshly shaven, regularly showered, and well-fed.

Slade put it into words. “You’re not looking too good, Wayne.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t begin to understand why,” Bruce said. “Let me talk to him.”

“No.”

Dick would tell Bruce that he was a dead man. Dick would ruin everything. Dick had seen Slade’s face, he knew Slade’s name, and those things meant that the last words he’d said to Bruce had been in anger.

It wasn’t like Dick hadn’t heard people warn that you should never go to bed angry, never leave a person without telling them how you truly felt. Dick had seen silly social media posts about wanting to go with no regrets but it wasn’t real until you had told someone you hated them… and never got the chance to tell them that it had all been a lie.

“Please,” Bruce said.

Dick didn’t think he’d ever really heard the man beg.

“No,” Slade said, just as calmly as the first time. A true professional. Not swayed by Bruce’s obvious show of emotion. It looked like Bruce was going to say it again, maybe keep saying it until Slade caved and Dick could only imagine that’s why Slade cut him off. “Mr. Luthor wants an update.”

Bruce’s eyes were on Dick.

“District Attorney,” Slade said. Two tired blue eyes went to the masked man. “An update, please.”

“It’s not going to be a short process,” Bruce said. “Anything that would end the trial now would allow for a retrial later. That’s not what you said you wanted. If you want him to get off free, you must let me take my time. Witnesses need to be examined poorly, but not so poorly that they replace me with someone else. Mistakes have to be made, but only the right amount to get him off and not so much that they don’t come back later to do this again. I’m trying.”

Bruce was really going to do it. He was going to try and lose this case to save Dick’s life. He was going to fail, but Dick had never believed that Bruce would put anything above his mission for justice. Most certainly not Dick.

“If you are pulled off this case, that’s as much a failure as anything else,” Slade warned.

“I assumed as much,” Bruce said.

Dick probably shouldn’t have spoken, but he bit out a muffled, “I’m sorry.” With the gag, the words were badly distorted. But he said them again, repeating them until Slade came over and back handed him across the face.

“Stop!” Bruce hollered.

“Relax, Wayne,” Slade said. “He’ll survive a slap across the face.”

Slade crouched down in front of him, his back to the camera. He lowered his voice. “Boy, watch your step.”

Dick’s shoulders sagged.

Slade stood up again. “I think this call is over.”

“Just let me speak to him-“

The call went dead with the press of a button.

Slade walked back over and pulled the cloth from his mouth. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. This wasn’t your fault. It’s no one’s fault. It’s money. It’s just business.”

Dick didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think there was anything _to_ say.

“Breathe, kid,” Slade said softly.

Dick did. Inhale seven. Exhale eleven.

“It’ll be over before you know it.”

Inhale seven. Exhale eleven.

“I’ll make it quick.”

Inhale seven. Exhale eleven.

“And when this is all over, if you’ve behaved,” Slade said. “I’ll even let you write him a letter and make sure it gets to him after.”

Inhale…

Exhale…

Inhale...

 

**Day Eleven**

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“You obviously did something. He wasn’t like this.”

“Maybe his mind was weaker than I thought it was.”

Wintergreen’s huff could have been comical if Dick was paying more attention. “Don’t you dare say it like that. Don’t prove that you’re just as cold and hollow on the inside as Adeline says you are. That’s a human being. It’s bad enough to kidnap him from his family, hold him hostage, beat him. _Telling him_ that you are planning to kill him, that was just cruel. But if you can shatter someone’s spirit and still look me in the eye like you don’t feel anything…”

“It’s regrettable,” Slade said.

“What did you do?”

“Since the last time you spoke to him? I gave him a shave, cleaned him up a bit, and did a proof of life video for the father,” Slade said. A huff before he corrected, “Former guardian.”

Silence.

“I told you,” Slade said. “I didn’t do anything. Whatever horrible image you had in your head-“

“Don’t pretend that you haven’t done terrible things, Slade.”

“Not as terrible as you imagined,” Slade said. “You spend too much time talking to Adeline.”

“I haven’t spoken to her in a year,” Wintergreen said.

“That’s one more time than you should have,” Slade said.

There was a part of Dick that knew they were talking about him. He didn’t care. He should have. He wanted to. Or he didn’t and that was the problem.

“Talk to him,” Wintergreen ordered.

Slade scoffed. “What am I going to do? He likes you. You talk to him.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” Wintergreen said.

“And you think he’s going to trust me? You said it yourself. I’ve kidnapped him, held him hostage, beaten him, and cruelly threatened him,” Slade said.

“He trusts that you’ll be cruel,” Wintergreen said. “Don’t look at me like that, Slade. Whatever can and will be said about your decisions in life, I cannot say that you have not been completely honest with the boy. He trusts you to be honest with him, and that’s more than can be said about me.”

“Well then make him trust you,” Slade said. “You know I’m no good with this, William.”

“Slade, get your ass over there and put some life into that boy. Or when he dies over there, fading away like some phantom of a person, I’m going to bury your body as close to Adeline as I can get it just to piss the both of you off,” Wintergreen said.

Dick didn’t look up as the floorboards creaked under Slade’s feet.

“Did I break you?” Slade asked bluntly.

“Does it matter?” Dick asked.

Slade sighed. “Hell if I know.”

Wintergreen cleared his throat from the other side of the room.

“It would be inconvenient if you died now,” Slade said. “And you look like a dead man.”

Dick’s lips quirked. “Do I?”

“Is that what this is? Some misguided attempt to spite me?” Slade asked.

Dick had to finally drag his eyes from the window. “Do you honestly believe that the world revolves around you so much as to think that I would just fade away and let you win? That in a matter of eleven days, you crushed me so much that I would kill myself with…what? A broken heart?”

Slade frowned, but didn’t speak.

“Do I seem so pathetic that I would break down so soon for _you_?” Dick asked. He dragged his gaze away from Slade and looked back out the window, resting his chin on his knee and gazing out at the big, white snowflakes as they fell from the endless white sky and onto the grass and the fields and the barn. “I thought I’d be out by the first snowfall.”

“Reality is a bitch,” Slade replied.

“And when I saw the snow, I just thought… Well, I’ll be out by Thanksgiving then,” Dick said.

“Thanksgiving is in a matter of days,” Slade replied.

“And when I realized that, I thought about Christmas…” Dick trailed off. “But I won’t be home for any of them. Not Thanksgiving. Not Christmas. Not New Years. Not my birthday. Not Tim or Damian or Bruce or Alfred’s birthday. I’m not going to be there when Damian gets his first girlfriend. I’m going to miss Tim’s graduation. I’m going to miss the next…” A broken laugh. “I’m going to miss the next election and I’ve worked my last day of work and you think _you_ are what could put me over here and break me and that’s hysterical.”

Slade still didn’t speak.

Dick stood up, walking to the window and pressing his hand against the glass. Feeling the cold make his hand burn and then turn slowly numb. “I’m starting to think that death is going to be a damn gift when you finally do it because at least I will stop having to _miss_ everything and at least I won’t have to put up with your egocentric bullshit that you think that _you_ could break me now.”

Slade was still quiet and Dick looked over and there was so much visible irritation that Dick had to laugh. “You’re offended.”

“I’m…” Slade trailed off.

Dick kept his smile. “Good.” Another beat of silence. “Do you know what I hate about this room?”

“The lock?” Slade suggested.

“There’s nothing to break,” Dick replied.

Slade braced his hands against the windowsill. “You want me to bring you something to break?”

Dick snorted before he could keep it in. And then laughed because he’d snorted. There were tears rolling down his eyes and his stomach ached. It had been so long since he’d last laughed, so long and these muscles weren’t used to it but it didn’t stop it from feeling good.

“Brilliant idea, William,” Slade said sarcastically.

“At least he seems to have some life in him again,” Wintergreen replied.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my laptop back :D

**Day Fourteen**

“To be quite honest,” Slade started. “I imagined that teaching you this would be not nearly as difficult as it’s turning out to be.”

Dick was holding a piece of toilet paper to his cheek where he’d managed to cut himself again with Slade’s straight razor. When he pulled it away the paper was speckled with red. He pressed his fingers against the cut which stung at the touch and they came away wet and red. He pressed the toilet paper against his cheek again. “I’m sorry I’m such a terrible student.”

“You have all the finesse of a rhinoceros,” Slade said.

“As long as I don’t have the nose of one,” Dick said.

“You’re lucky I have more patience than the man who taught me,” Slade said dryly.

Dick glanced up at him, pulling the toilet paper away again. “Your father, right?” Slade’s eye snapped down to meet Dick’s gaze. The younger man almost stepped back. Almost. “You told me last time that your father taught you how to use a straight razor. That any man who didn’t use a straight razor-“

“Didn’t deserve to be called a man at all,” Slade cut him off. “I remember, Grayson. I was there for the interaction as well.”

Dick felt for wetness again but the cut appeared to have stopped bleeding. He balled up the little piece of toilet paper and threw it in the empty waste basket. Dick wasn’t sure what might could have been in a waste basket that would have aided him but Dick doubted it was a coincidence that the trash was changed in here every time that he was allowed in. “Sounds like a traditionalist.”

“I’m a bit older than you,” Slade said. At least he sounded amused. “Which makes my father from a generation that believed in the simple things.”

“Still,” Dick pressed.

Slade crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m familiar with Wayne’s illustrious past. Not everyone’s father was a well-to-do playboy.”

That meant the man didn’t come from money. He’d made a point of pointing out Bruce’s money more than once, clearly a sticking point for the criminal. This was the most Slade had ever talked about himself and Dick ate up the chance to even the playing field – even if it was only in his own head. “What did your father do?”

“What does that matter to you?” Slade asked.

Dick hesitated. “It doesn’t, I guess. I just thought…”

“I don’t believe you need my life story to learn how to use a straight razor,” Slade said. “Try again, now that you’ve stopped bleeding like a stuck pig.”

Dick picked up the razor again. He’d butchered his left cheek a bit but he still had his right cheek and his neck to do. Dick was very wary of his neck. “I thought we were having a conversation.”

“Remember to use a rotating motion,” Slade said, instead of commenting on what Dick _thought_ was happening.

Dick took the hint for what it was. He leaned towards the mirror to get a better look at what he was doing and then curse when the blade split his skin over his cheek. He set the blade down and grabbed another little ball of toilet paper to hold to the new cut on his cheek.

Slade sighed. “Sit down. I think I’ve watched enough for one day. I’ll finish.”

Dick looked up at him again, eyes focusing on what wasn’t there and the story behind the missing eye that Dick was irrationally desperate to learn.

“Not until you learn, Grayson,” Slade said, as if reading his mind.

Dick rolled his eyes and took a seat on the lid of the toilet as ordered.

~~~

“It appears as if you’ve lost a round with an animal, Richard.” In the doorway was Wintergreen. He was dressed simply, green shirt and comfortable looking jeans. “Perhaps a kitten.”

“There goes my pride,” Dick muttered.

“He’s learning to use a straight razor,” Slade filled in. He turned with the pan and used a spatula to push the scrambled eggs onto Dick’s plate. “Or rather, failing to learn to use a straight razor considering that he seems to be doing more damage to himself than anything else.”

“I’m trying, aren’t I? That should count for something,” Dick said. He glanced over at Wintergreen and then back to Slade. “What are you doing here anyway? Has something changed?”

Wintergreen shared a look with Slade that Dick didn’t understand, one that made Dick’s captor huff and turn back towards the stove to crack his own eggs. Wintergreen, in turn, took a seat beside Dick. “We won’t be making a habit of this, and if you cater to that nasty habit of yours in asking questions and making requests you know we cannot give you we’ll end it early… but today is Thanksgiving, Richard, and we – or rather I – believed that it might be nice to enjoy a traditionally cooked dinner for the holiday.”

Slade left the stove with the eggs behind him and stood at the table, arms crossed over his chest. It was no doubt intentional that the motion flexed the muscles in his arms to seem incredibly threatening. A steely blue eye narrowed on him. “One wrong move, boy, and you’ll spend the rest of the holiday in the basement for Thanksgiving. William thinks you can handle a modicum of slack in your leash. Don’t make me regret giving it to you.”

Dick looked between the two, fingers curling tightly around the fork in his hand. “It’s Thanksgiving?” At the nod from the older man, Dick blew out a breath. “And we’re going to do the whole Thanksgiving thing?”

“That was the idea,” Slade said. “On the condition that you behave.”

“Yeah, I got that part. Or I spend the rest of the day in the basement. I heard it loud and clear, I just can’t believe you agreed to that,” Dick said.

Wintergreen smiled but Slade didn’t react.

Dick swallowed. “Sorry.”

“You can help cook,” Slade said. “But let me make things abundantly clear. You pick up anything I don’t expressly instruct you to pick up, you grab anything I don’t intentionally give you, you attempt to make a break for it while you _think_ I am otherwise occupied and that will be the end of it.”

Cooking meant cooking utensils. Forks and knives, weapons that Dick had been fantasizing about getting his hands on. Dick sort of understood why Slade was so adamant about making sure he knew the consequences of acting up. Dick nodded. “I get it. I swear. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Good,” Slade said. “Eat your damn breakfast. We’re watching the game. I don’t want to hear any arguments otherwise.”

“What about the parad-“

“We’re watching the game,” Slade said, voice brokering no room for argument.

Dick sighed. “Okay. The game. Got it.”

Slade hummed at that before finally turning back towards the stove. Wintergreen watched him and let out a soft sigh that Dick got the impression he didn’t mean to make audible. “Eat up, Richard.”

Dick nodded.

The game was about as interesting as he’d expected. Dick had never much cared for sports like these. He’d played a few during high school but he’d always been more about playing than watching. Sitting on the couch, Slade drinking a beer though Dick was never offered one, and watching two teams run around chasing after a ball wasn’t Dick’s idea of fun. Still, it was something that almost seemed like normalcy and then Wintergreen tapped him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come join me in the kitchen while Slade finishes up his game on the television?”

Dick jumped at the chance. From the kitchen, the sound of the TV could be heard like a muffled conversation just far enough away not to be understood. Not that Dick considered that much of a loss. “Just so you know, I’m not really talented in the kitchen. Not that I don’t know how, it’s just really easy stuff. Bruce’s butler, Alfred, he’s always been family to us but he usually does most of the cooking.”

“Ah, to be raised in the lap of luxury,” Wintergreen said. “No worries, Richard. Slade isn’t much of a cook either. We both learned the basics to keep ourselves alive but whereas I decided that I didn’t want to eat plain military food for the rest of my life, Slade has determined that he’s content to live that way. Who am I to tell him differently?”

“Slade was in the military?” Dick asked. He’d suspected as much but he was surprised to get validation for his guess.

Wintergreen hesitated. “Perhaps we could keep that slip of the tongue to ourselves, Richard?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dick said.

Wintergreen wrapped his hand around Dick’s arm. “I’m serious. You’ll remember how the last interaction went.”

With Dick freezing in his room naked and cold. It had been a far from pleasant experience that Dick had little interest in repeating. “I remember. I won’t say anything, I swear.”

The grip tightened before releasing. “Good. Good man.”

Dick rubbed his arm as Wintergreen turned around.

There was a good plenty of things that Dick wasn’t allowed to do. Anything that involved a knife was out of the question. Wintergreen never made a big deal out of it but Dick felt the absence anyways. It something was to be stirred or mixed, that was automatically Dick’s job, but Wintergreen made a point to send him across or out of the room when he used the knife. He was closely watched with the fork, which seemed ridiculous considering he often ate his meals with one, and even the thermometer with its long, pointed tip.

“How’s it coming in here?” Slade asked.

“Richard is an excellent assistant. Something that cannot be said about _you_ ,” Wintergreen said.

Slade shrugged. “I told you this was too much. If you didn’t want to do it, you shouldn’t have.”

“Your gratitude on this day of thanks is much appreciated, Slade,” Wintergreen said.

Slade’s single eye rolled and he set his beer down on the counter. “How long to go?”

“About an hour, I think,” Wintergreen said. “The turkey is just about done.”

“Who won?” Dick asked.

Slade arched his eyebrow. “Tell me the name of either of the teams that were playing and I’ll answer that.”

Dick opened his mouth. “One was…” He really hadn’t been playing that much attention. “Okay, I don’t know.”

Slade huffed. “That’s what I thought.”

“Can’t fault me for trying to make conversation,” Dick said.

“Watch me,” Slade said.

“We could still catch the end of the parade,” Dick suggested.

“You’re cooking,” Slade said.

Dick sighed. “Do you have something against parades?”

Slade didn’t reply to that. He just picked up his beer again and took a drink.

“We used to watch it together,” Dick said. “Not my mom and dad and I. We didn’t have a TV at the circus so that wasn’t really a thing we did. But Bruce and Alfred and I. And then eventually Jason and Tim and Damian.”

Slade’s grip tightened on the bottle but Dick was too involved in mixing the pumpkin pie mix to notice. His own expression tightened. “It’s one of those rare days that Bruce takes the day off for and we all sit around the TV…”

He trailed off and looked up. Slade’s expression had never changed and Wintergreen’s back was too him. It might have been his imagination but Dick thought Wintergreen’s shoulders might have looked stiff.

“Sorry,” Dick murmured.

“Go watch your damn parade,” Slade said.

Dick’s eyes snapped back to him. “What?”

“Go,” Slade ordered. “And get back in the kitchen the moment it’s over.”

Dick looked over to Wintergreen who smiled and nodded. “Slade can help me with what’s left.”

Dick grinned and set the bowl and spoon down before darting out of the kitchen to leap over the back of the couch and land on the cushion. He grabbed the remote and changed the channel. It was a little over half over but Dick didn’t even care.

“Stop vaulting my furniture, boy!” Slade called out.

When the parade had ended, Dick turned off the TV. He hoped that Bruce hadn’t forgone this tradition for the boys just because of Dick. Bruce was so good at punishing himself and Dick didn’t like the image of Bruce ignoring his family to labor over this case. If Bruce had joined them like he should have, Dick could almost pretend that they’d watched it together.

“Is it over already?” Wintergreen asked.

“Yeah,” Dick said. “It was more than half over when I got out there.”

Wintergreen frowned. “Sorry, Richard.”

“It’s okay. It was still cool to watch,” Dick said. He pulled himself up onto a clear spot on the counter. “Thanks, Slade.”

“Counters are for glasses, not asses. Get _yours_ off _mine,_ ” Slade said, grabbing Dick by the back of the neck and squeezing as he pushed him forward.

“Ow!” Dick exclaimed. He scooted forward and dropped back down to the floor. “I got it, I got it. I’m off the counter.”

Slade let go. “Go help William.”

Dick grumbled but moved back across the kitchen to Wintergreen’s side. “What can I do for you?”

“There are oven mitts in the drawer over there. Put them on and pull the turkey out of the oven for me?” Wintergreen asked.

Dick nodded and grabbed said oven mitts. He pulled the turkey out and set it on the top of the stove. Wintergreen looked it over and checked the temp before stepping back. “It’s good.”

“Finally,” Slade muttered.

“Go set the table, Slade,” Wintergreen said. “I’ll start carrying the dishes out to the dining room.”

The man grabbed the cranberry sauce, knocking the oven mitt off onto the floor. Dick tried to catch it but missed. Wintergreen was walking away already so Dick knelt down to pick it up, barely catching a glint out of the corner of his eye. He abandoned the mitt and reached for that instead. His hands wrapped around the handle and he pulled out the knife. It had been cleaned before being dropped, the blade shining enough to see a vague reflection of himself in the metal. The sink was pretty close, no doubt having been washed and then callously forgotten. Dick’s hand tightened around the knife.

Dick was normally not allowed around anything like this. No blades, no razors, no remotely sharp objects without Slade’s express supervision. He looked over his shoulder to where Slade and Wintergreen were setting the table, assured that all of the knives were out of his reach except they _weren’t_.

He looked back down at it and then quickly slid it in the front of his sweatpants. He had to tie the string around the handle to keep it from sliding down his pant leg and even then he was mildly paranoid that it would fall and cut something on the way down.

“What are you doing on the floor, boy?” Slade asked.

Dick grabbed the oven mitt. “Wintergreen dropped this.”

Slade narrowed his eye. He watched Dick for a moment and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Get the rest of the stuff out to the table.”

“Got it,” Dick said. He grabbed the pumpkin pie, making a conscious effort not to react to the cold metal pressed against his thigh where the blade was hanging. He walked past Slade who then moved to the fridge. Only when the man grabbed another beer did Dick feel remotely relaxed.

Thanksgiving dinner was a sort of awkward affair from the moment they sat down. Wintergreen cut the turkey for them and Dick heaped large portions of it and everything else onto his plate. Mountains of mashed potatoes swimming in gravy next to turkey and stuffing sat before him. Cranberry sauce and two dinner rolls had to fit on a smaller plate beside it.

Dick leaned forward and the blade shifted against his leg. He hesitated and lowered his fork to the plate.

Wintergreen frowned. “Is everything alright, Richard?”

Dick forced a smile. “Yeah, everything looks amazing. I just need to use the bathroom.”

Slade narrowed his eye again but Dick only pushed his chair back and walked past him to the hallway where the downstairs bathroom was. He closed the door, there was no lock on it but he leaned against the door for even the semblance of privacy. He closed his eyes and pulled the knife up and untied it. The metal had heated up some from being hidden under his clothes and pressed up to his body heat. He took a deep breath.

It should be simple. Hide the blade and bring it out at the last moment. Slade’s back was to the hallway so if Dick was quiet enough, moved quickly enough, didn’t give anything away then he could just stab Slade in the back and this would all be over.

Wintergreen would be upset. It wasn’t hard to read the friendliness between them. From the way the older man had spoken, he and Slade had served in the military together. That meant Wintergreen might be a problem. Hopefully he’d be too concerned with Slade to take off after Dick. Once Dick was out of the house, he had to trek across God only knew how far to get away.

Slade had said the next person was miles away. Miles in the snow with no shoes. Dick would do best to follow the road. If it was clear, Dick might last a hell of a lot longer before frostbite set in.

He made a show of flushing the toilet, just in case Slade was paying attention, and turned on the sink for the sound of running water. He put the blade at the small of his back and pulled his shirt down over it before turning off the water. He opened the door and stepped back when Slade was waiting on the other side.

“What the hell?” Dick demanded.

“Hand it over,” Slade ordered.

Dick’s heart beat a bruise against his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Whatever you’re hiding,” Slade said.

“I’m not-“

“ _Don’t_ lie to me, boy,” Slade said. “Last chance. Turn it over.”

Dick swallowed. “I’m not lying, Slade.”

Slade grabbed Dick by the neck. He squeezed and Dick wrapped both hands around the man’s massive forearm. “I warned you, kid.” He let go just long enough to slam him face first into the bathroom wall. Slade pat him down, sides first, and then landed at the small of his back where Dick cringed as he lifted up Dick’s shirt to grab the knife.

A hand wrapped around the back of his neck and yanked him back from the wall. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I’m getting real tired of hearing that, like you don’t know how the rules work,” Slade said. He pushed him back out to the dining room.

Wintergreen stood. “Slade, what-“

The knife was stabbed into the table. “Keep the knives out of his reach. That’s all I asked, William. I’m lucky he’s a shit liar, because if I’d trusted you to do your damn job I’d have a knife in my back right about now.”

Dick glanced up and something about the disappointed look in Wintergreen’s eyes reminded him of Alfred. He felt about as big as an ant.

“I’m sorry, Slade. I don’t know where he could have gotten it fr-“

“Save it,” Slade said. He dragged Dick back, who stumbled to keep up.

“Slade, where are you taking him?” Wintergreen asked.

“I told him at the beginning he could behave or he could spend the holiday in the basement. He made his decision,” Slade snapped.

Wintergreen followed after them, hurried steps. “It’s Thanksgiving, Slade. He made a mistake. Just let him finish dinner.”

Slade opened the basement door. “I tried to be nice by letting him have this damn dinner, William. Now I’m out of mercy.”

Dick’s arms flailed as Slade shoved him forward. His fingers skimmed the railing but missed getting a decent grasp on it. He hit the stairs with his shoulder and then tumbled down, ending with his arm caught under him. He heard a crack before he felt the burning pain in his forearm.

He cried out, curling his arm against his chest. Probably broken, based on the pain.

Wintergreen’s voice was muffled. “Christ, Slade. I think you really hurt him.”

“If he’s crying about it, then he’s alive,” Slade snapped.

“Let me look him over,” Wintergreen said. “Make sure he’s okay.”

The door locked at the top of the stairs. “Go back to your dinner, William. I’ll look him over tonight.”

Dick waited, prayed for Wintergreen to argue again and convince Slade to let him be seen. His arm was screaming in pain and Dick didn’t even know how he was going to hold out until one of them came down hours later. Instead, two sets of footsteps faded away from the door and Dick groaned before rolling over onto his side. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of anything but the pain.

~~~

Dick had managed to move to the wall and lean against it when the door opened at the top of the stairs. His arm was still curled against his chest but he’d stopped crying. The pain hadn’t numbed any but after what he was sure had been hours downstairs, he’d grown used to it almost.

He looked up, expecting Wintergreen for some reason, and looked back down when he saw Slade.

The man came over and set down first a plate of food and then a bag. He unzipped the bag and Dick could see medical supplies inside. “Give me your arm.”

Dick hesitated but eventually uncurled his arm for Slade to take. He hissed when Slade roughly grabbed it and looked it over.

“Damn sure broke it,” Slade muttered. He looked up. “You stupid son of a bitch. Didn’t I tell you?”

Dick looked away.

“Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you,” Slade growled. “I told you, boy. I had very few rules if you wanted to enjoy William’s foolish attempt at a holiday. I let you watch that damn parade. A smidge of gratitude would not be out of the goddamn question.”

“I know,” Dick whispered.

“Then what the hell were you thinking? You know I’ve never made an idle threat since the day I grabbed you,” Slade said.

“I miss them,” Dick said softly. He grunted as Slade moved his arm into place and then splinted it. “It’s Thanksgiving and they’re together and I wanted to go home.”

Slade wrapped the split to keep his arm in place, looking over the work before letting go of his arm. “You’re not going home. I thought we’d gotten that through your thick skull.”

Dick pulled his arm back against him. “Knowing you’re going to kill me when this is over doesn’t stop me from wanting to see them again. It’s my family.”

“It’s over, Grayson,” Slade said. “It’s over. You’re not going to see them again. This won’t be the last Thanksgiving they have without you.”

Dick felt tears build up in his eyes again. He’d never been much of a crier, honestly, but the thought of never getting to see them again was just hitting hard. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Slade said, more gently probably than he’d said anything else. “I brought a plate of food down for you. There’s pumpkin pie left over for tomorrow. Eat dinner down here and then I’ll take you upstairs.”

Dick pulled the cheap paper plate over. It didn’t have as much as he’d piled on before and Dick felt another burst of regret. Not about the arm or Slade’s anger, but because he really wished he’d just been allowed to sit at the dining room table and enjoy the meal. Eat a piece of pumpkin pie he’d helped make.

He used the fork to pick at the stuffing first. “Did Wintergreen give you this to bring down?”

“No,” Slade said dryly. “I’m capable of making a plate of food myself.”

Dick paused before replying. “I didn’t-“

“I get it, kid. You want to go home. I don’t fault you _wanting_ , but I’ve made the rules clear and I’m not going to go belly up out of the kindness of my heart because your feelings are hurt,” Slade said. “So eat the damn food so we can go upstairs. I’ve got to figure out how to get your arm casted.”

Dick looked down at it. “Can I have some painkillers?”

“After you eat,” Slade said. “And nothing stronger than ibuprofen, understood?”

Dick nodded.

“Don’t come after me with a knife again, Grayson,” Slade said. “I’ll give you a hell of a lot worse than a broken arm the next time you try to attack me.”

“I got it,” Dick said. The food was a bit cold but it was still good.

Slade gave him some painkillers and walked him upstairs to the bedroom. He threw an extra blanket in and then looked at Dick. “Be careful with that arm.” The door closed and locked and Dick dropped onto the bed. The cold air outside made him shiver so he grabbed the extra blanket and covered himself up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really tried desperately to hold onto this chapter until next Saturday but... honestly, I kind of suck at self discipline. So here ya go. Enjoy. Yes, I'm not dead. I know that comes as a shock.

**Day Fifteen**

Dick’s arm ached to the beat of his heart in the morning. A dull throb that started as a pinprick of pain and then swelled out to the tips of his fingers and the joint of his shoulder before shrinking back to a pinprick once more. There was no comfortable position, no angle to hold it at, that made his arm feel any better. The over the counter painkiller Slade had given him last night had long worn off and without a dose the pain had woken him in the wee hours of the morning.

There were more tears at that point. Not even from the pain as much as from not being able to sleep. It seemed all so petty when Dick knew that his death was coming, that he could not even enjoy however many nights of sleep he had left. As much as he wanted to hate Slade for that… it was his own damn fault.

Slade was right. Dick had known the rules. He’d agreed and promised not to try anything. He’d lost Thanksgiving because he couldn’t keep to that promise. He’d be up in the wee hours of the morning wishing that he could sleep because he couldn’t just enjoy a Thanksgiving meal. Slade was right, this was Dick’s fault.

Dick didn’t look up when the door opened.

“Are you back to moping?” Slade asked.

Dick considered for a moment and then shook his head.

“It sure as shit looks like you’re back to staring out the window like some Civil War era heroine,” Slade said.

Dick snorted. “My arm just hurts, Slade. I don’t feel good and I’m tired. I’m not moping.”

“Get up,” Slade said. “I’m going to look it over and then I’ll give you some more pain medication.”

Dick cradled his arm to his chest as he wiggled out of bed. He shuffled over to Slade and let the man take his arm and look it over. It hadn’t moved in the splint but it was still just a short term solution.

“We’re going to have to get it cast,” Slade muttered.

Dick pulled his arm back and was almost surprised when Slade let him without a fight. “I don’t think you have the supplies in that stupid bag of yours.”

“You’d be right,” Slade said. “Go downstairs and get something to eat. I need to talk with Wintergreen.”

“Can I see Bruce?” Dick asked.

“No,” Slade said.

“Slade, please. I just-“

“No,” Slade interrupted. “With the broken arm you send the wrong message. No videos unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Dick didn’t argue. He wasn’t going to win that argument. It hurt too damn much to know that he wouldn’t be getting to see them until the arm was healed. Christmas was right around the corner; just one more holiday that Dick would have to go without even seeing his family. It was his own damn fault. Dick should have just been grateful for the damn Thanksgiving dinner they were going to let him eat.

“Downstairs,” Slade ordered.

Dick stepped past Slade who closed the bedroom door behind them. Wintergreen was downstairs already. Dick looked away when the man turned around to greet him. “Hello, Richard.”

Slade gripped the back of Dick’s neck tightly. Dick heard him open his mouth to speak but he already knew what was coming. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Dick wasn’t sure which of the men was more stunned. Wintergreen’s eyes pinched in the corners and Slade’s grip slackened. Wintergreen stepped forward, setting the plate on the table as he did. “It’s in the past, Richard. I think it’s best if we leave it there.”

Dick could still remember the disappointment on Wintergreen’s face and- Yes, he was just as complicit in Dick’s kidnapping as Slade was but he’d tried to make things easier. It should have mattered. Dick still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it that way last night. Dick nodded and took advantage of Slade’s lax grip to step away and take a seat at the table.

“Can I talk to you, William?” Slade asked.

Two sets of footsteps left the dining room and kitchen area, and then Dick could just barely make out their muffled conversation.

“….arm needs…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have….”

Slade hushed him and then, “….late…….figure something...broken...and I don’t….”

Dick snapped his head back down to the plate when Slade peered around the corner and narrowed his eyes at him. Their voices grew quieter from there and Dick couldn’t make out anything. He focused on eating his food and babying his arm against his chest until their conversation ended and they returned to the kitchen.

Dick was down to a few bites which he was currently pushing around the plate as if they were toy soldiers, a hash brown army fighting the last bite of a sausage patty over the border of a half of a strip of bacon.

“We have to get the arm cast,” Slade said.

“You mentioned that upstairs,” Dick replied.

Slade’s fingers in Dick’s hair surprised him enough that Slade had no problem pulling him out of his chair and onto his feet. The fork slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Slade’s eye bore a hole right through him. “You’ve already had your arm broken. I would think you’d temper your tongue a bit.”

“I wasn’t trying to backtalk,” Dick said. “I was just saying that you already mentioned it, but you also said that you couldn’t do it here so I don’t really see what it matters.”

Wintergreen knelt down to pick up the fork. “Slade, he wasn’t trying to mouth off to you. Let me give him a real painkiller so he can sleep and we can figure something out.”

Slade’s jaw clenched and Dick could swear that he could hear his teeth grinding. Finally he let go and Dick stumbled back, rubbing the top of his head. “Go upstairs. Wintergreen can bring you a painkiller.”

Within five minutes there was a knock at the door preceding it swinging open. Wintergreen set a cup of water down and a single pill. “This should be strong enough to let you get some real sleep. You don’t have any allergies do you?” Dick shook his head. “Richard?”

Dick looked up.

“Richard, he didn’t mean to break your arm.”

Dick shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s broken. Whether it was intentional or not, it’s done and over with. The past is in the past, isn’t that what you said?”

“We’ll figure out something so that it heals properly,” Wintergreen replied.

“What does a dead man need with a good arm?” Dick asked.

Wintergreen’s lips thinned and then, “You’re not dead yet.”

“Ever heard the term ‘dead man walking’?” Dick asked. He picked up the pill and swallowed it with the water. Dick laid on the bed, facing away from Wintergreen. He was asleep by the time the man left and closed the door behind him.

**Day Sixteen**

There was a pill on the end table when Dick woke up. He swallowed it and the world dimmed once more.

**Day Seventeen**

“Wake up.”

“You sound like a drill sergeant,” Dick mumbled into the pillow.

“You sound like you need one,” Slade said. “Get your ass out of bed.”

Dick sat up and rubbed his eyes with his good hand. The other ached but nowhere near as bad as before. “Whatever Wintergreen gave me at for the pain is great.” He stood beside Slade, wobbling with the sudden height. A hand on his shoulder kept him from taking a nose dive into the wooden floorboards.

“Walk,” Slade ordered.

Dick took one step forward and the floor rushed up towards his face. Then it stopped and Dick slowly reached one hand out to brace against the floor. The floor fell back away and Dick was twisted around. It took far too long for his drug addled mind to realize that Slade had stopped him from falling and then picked him up in his arms. His arm throbbed. “Do you have another pill?”

“I think another pill is the last thing that you need right now,” Slade said.

Dick laid his head on Slade’s shoulder. “I want to call Bruce.”

“I know you do,” Slade said.

Dick closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of Slade’s aftershave

He woke up again, curled up on the couch. Someone had tossed a blanket on him. He pulled it up under his chin and laid his head on the pillow again. The sound of the TV was like white noise in the back of his mind and the warm hand on his ankle was a comforting presence.

“Kid, you awake?”

Dick shook his head. This answer proved to amuse Slade who barked out a laugh. The hand pulled away, leaving Dick’s ankle cold. He pushed his foot out until it ran into Slade’s thigh. After a pause, the hand returned to his ankle. Comfortable once more, Dick fell asleep.

**Day Eighteen**

Hunger was the alarm that woke Dick up this time. He wasn’t even quite sure what day it was at this point. The bits of the past few days he could remember were foggy. Wisps of grayed out and distorted images and disconnected sounds.

His stomach grumbled and he shifted. It was only then that Dick realized that at some point he’d moved from the pillow, because now his head was on Slade’s lap instead. He squeezed his eyes shut and stilled again. Prayed that Slade wouldn’t realize that Dick had woken.

Of course it didn’t work out that way. “How are you feeling, kid?”

Dick blinked. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m sure you are. You’ve basically slept for the past seventy two hours,” Slade said.

Nearly three days. Dick wouldn’t believe it if not for the hunger pains in his stomach and the growl that made Slade arch an eyebrow. A rough hand cupped Dick’s cheek and he rocked back from it.

“You’re a mess,” Slade said, letting his hand fall.

Dick sat up on his own and away from Slade. “How did I end up in your _lap_?”

“You’re quite an active sleeper,” Slade said. Dick waited for further explanation but he didn’t receive any. “You can eat on the way.”

Dick frowned. “On the way where?”

“We need to get your arm cast,” Slade said.

His hunger was instantly forgotten and his mind broke free of the haze and snapped into clarity, expression slackening. “We’re leaving the house?”

Slade caught Dick’s chin. “I can see the wheels turning, boy. Don’t get a smart idea in your head.”

“You’re taking me out of the house,” Dick repeated.

Slade’s grip tightened. “You’re not listening to me.”

“I am,” Dick said. He wrapped his hand around Slade’s wrist and tightened it. “I’m listening. Don’t do something stupid. I know. But I can still get excited about going out. I’m not talking about escaping just… seeing more than these walls again.”

“One time. Long enough to get the cast on,” Slade said, only to add cruelly, “You probably won’t even live long enough to get the cast off.”

Dick teetered back at the reminder. “I’m aware.”

“Are you?” Slade demanded.

“I am,” Dick said. “I’m aware. I just want to see the outside again. It’s a chance I didn’t think I’d get.”

Slade narrowed his eye and then abruptly let go of his chin. “There are clothes and shoes up in your room. Get dressed. We’ll go over the rules in the car.”

Jeans, a size too big, and a blue t-shirt were what was provided. There were also a pair of tennis shoes and a pair of socks, both of which he slipped on. When he got downstairs, Slade had a jacket in his hands. “You’ll need help but first, arms out to your sides and face the wall.”

Dick did as he was ordered, hearing the swish of the jacket being thrown over the chair. Slade’s hands patted up and down his arms, down his sides and then down his legs. Dick waited until Slade stepped back. “Good?”

“Keep your arms out,” Slade said, without responding to the question. He helped Dick first into the left sleeve and then into the right. Standing in front of him, Dick couldn’t help but try to see Slade’s eye as the man zipped up the jacket and pulled up the hood for him. “Listen very carefully. You are not to speak without permission. You are not to tell anyone what is going on. If you are asked, your name is Richard Smith. Look at me and repeat what I just said.”

Dick nodded. “I’m not to speak without permission. I’m not to tell anyone what is going on. If asked, my name is Richard Smith.”

Slade huffed but then guided Dick towards the door. He unlocked it with one of the many keys and then held the door open. “Be careful. The steps are slick and you’ve already broken one bone.”

The snow crunched under his shoes. The wind was a surprise. It had been so long since he’d been outside that the howling sound of winter wind had started to feel distant. It burned his cheeks and stole his breath. Dick grinned. “It’s cold.”

“No shit,” Slade said. “I would have thought the snow had given it away.”

Dick stepped off the stairs and kicked the snow. Flakes flew up into the air and got caught up in the wind. They flew back at Dick’s face and Slade smacked Dick in the back of the head. “Enough.”

Dick rubbed the back of his head. He shuffled the snow around between his feet for a moment, still and then walked over to the barn.

“I had hoped the painkillers had worn off by this point,” Slade muttered. He opened the passenger door and let Dick climb in.

“Oh, they did,” Dick said. He pulled his arm in closer to his chest. “It hurts. A lot.”

“You seem a bit high,” Slade said.

Dick rolled the window down just a crack, inhaling the sharp cold air until Slade rolled it back up and then hit the window lock button. Dick sighed. “That’s easy for you to say. You get to leave the house. I have cabin fever.”

“It’s been a little over two weeks,” Slade said. “You act as if you’ve been trapped in there for two months.”

“It’s felt like two months,” Dick countered.

“If you’re still alive two months from now, I’ll ask you if you still agree with that statement,” Slade said.

Dick watched the trees blur past the window. “How will you do it?”

Slade glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. There was a click and Dick realized he’d locked the doors. Dick wasn’t going to jump. Maybe it would kill him, but more than likely he would just injure himself and be incapable of running anyways. “Quick. A bullet to the head. You won’t feel a thing.”

Hell, Dick probably wouldn’t even hear it go off. “Are you going to warn me?”

The question gave Slade some pause as Dick actually watched the consideration on his face. “Do you want me to?”

“Um,” Dick started. The idea of being shot and not knowing seemed so abrupt. Not knowing it was coming, making plans. He could wish Wintergreen a good night and lay down and Slade could end it and Dick would never even know. If there was no life after death, then Dick would spend his last moments of thought unaware of them being the last moments. It would save him from having to live with the fear… “Yes.”

“You’re more likely to fight,” Slade pointed out.

“Which is why you might ignore my request anyways,” Dick said. “But if it’s up to me, choosing not to know seems cowardly. I would want to know and see it coming. I would want you to have to look me in the eyes when you shoot me.”

“I’ve shot men in the head before who I’ve stared down as I pulled the trigger,” Slade said.

“Do you remember them?” Dick asked.

Slade stopped at a red light. He used the moment to spare Dick a look. His eye narrowed. “Yes, I do.”

“Then I would get what I wanted out of it,” Dick said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Slade said.

Their drive into the city took them to the worst part of town. Here the windows were boarded up or had bars on the windows, and padlocks protected closed stores. Graffiti covered large chunks of brick where chunks had long been blown away by gun fights. Only bullet holes and specks of dried blood remained.

The clinic was small and going to the dogs. It wasn’t well taken care of. The windows were dirty, the parking lot was faded, and the neon sign on the door had a broken letter which left the bright red glow only reading PEN. “Do they sell organs in their spare time?”

“It’s an inner city clinic. They don’t ask a lot of questions,” Slade said.

Dick didn’t point out that Slade’s answer didn’t exactly answer Dick’s question. Slade opened the door for him and then used a hand around the back of Dick’s neck to guide him towards the front door.

There were a few people inside. One woman dressed in rags and carrying a bag with what looked to be every single one of her possessions that had a cough that rattled her chest. A man with a cut on his face and a chatter to his teeth from the cold. A mother and a baby, both crying to fill the otherwise silent room with noise.

“Can we help you?” The receptionist pursed her lips at them and used the tip of her pen to push a stringy strand of gray hair away from her temple.

“He has a broken arm. We need to see the doctor,” Slade said.

“Take a seat,” she said, holding out a clipboard. “Fill out the paperwork.”

Slade took the clipboard and then guided Dick to a seat. He looked over the paperwork and then glanced at Dick. “Anything I need to know?”

“I had my tonsils removed when I was ten,” Dick said. “And my appendix removed when I was seventeen.”

Slade took to the clipboard, filling out the information as he saw fit. Dick glanced at the paperwork a few times but it wasn’t like there was anything really interesting there. He was filled out as Richard Smith – not that he believed anyone would actually believe that was his real name nor that they would care enough to bring it up – and then Slade put the pen in his hand. “Sign.”

Dick took the pen. He considered signing his real name but in the end was careful to make the big S to match his R and spelled out the fake surname that Slade had given him.

Slade took the pen instantly. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dick said.

Slade walked the clipboard over and handed it to the woman. Meanwhile Dick watched the woman rock her baby and whisper soft nothings to it in a desperate attempt to calm it down. She was so young. Tim’s girlfriend Stephanie had a kid about that age, and looked to be just about as old as her. Dick had babysat the kid a few times. Bruce said he needed to let the two of them take responsibility but kids should get the chance to be kids. And Dick happened to like the little squirt.

Dick stood and walked over. “Can I help?”

A pair of chocolate brown eyes looked up. “What?”

“You look a bit stressed,” Dick said. “They can sense that. I can take them for a moment.” She swallowed but eventually desperation won out. She handed the baby to him. Dick cradled the child in his good arm. They were swaddled in a blue blanket. “What’s his name?”

“Her name. Ella,” she replied.

“Sorry, I saw the blue blanket. I shouldn’t have assumed,” Dick said.

“It’s okay,” the woman said. She smiled a bit. “I get that a lot. I just really like blue.”

Dick chuckled. “Me too.”

The baby didn’t quiet down right away but eventually she hiccupped and then closed her eyes. Dick handed the blanket wrapped baby back to the mother. She laid her against her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Dick said. He winced when Slade’s hand squeezed down on his shoulder. The woman’s eyes flickered up past his shoulder. “I should go.”

“You should,” Slade agreed.

Dick took a step back and then Slade dragged him the rest of the way. He pushed Dick into the chair. “Slade-“

“Repeat the rules to me,” Slade ordered.

“I’m not to speak without permission. I’m not to tell anyone what is going on. If asked, my name is Richard Smith,” Dick repeated reluctantly.

“Do you see the problem?” Slade asked.

Dick’s shoulders dropped. “I was just trying to-“

“Boy, when I ask a question I expect you to answer it,” Slade interrupted.

“I shouldn’t have talked to her,” Dick muttered.

“No, you shouldn’t have. If your stupid face shows up on the TV, she could remember the boy who helped quiet her baby,” Slade said. “The wisest decision would be to kill her before it comes to that.”

Dick _felt_ the blood drain from his face as his head snapped up. “Slade, no. Please. I won’t talk to anybody else. She has a baby.”

Slade gripped Dick by the neck. “Don’t do it again.”

Dick nodded as much as he could with Slade’s hand around his neck. Dick felt a gaze on him and looked up to catch the mother watching him as Slade stepped back. Dick lowered his eyes instantly, not wanting to draw attention to her from Slade.

“Mr. Smith?”

Dick stood and Slade walked with him to where the woman was standing, a dark haired middle aged woman wearing a white jacket and a stethoscope around her neck. Dick wanted to ask why the baby didn’t get to go first. The woman coughing, the man bleeding. Slade’s tight grip around his upper arm kept him silent. He’d rather them get to go first, they seemed to need it more, but he knew that pointing that out when Slade had just threatened to kill someone because Dick had talked to them. He wasn’t going to really piss the man off by pushing his luck.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith. My name is Dr. Thompkins,” the doctor said. She held out her hand.

Dick glanced at Slade before holding his hand out. He was quiet. “Same.”

“This is Richard,” Slade said.

Dr. Thompkins cut her eyes to Slade. “And you are?”

“A friend,” Slade said.

A frown creased her face but she nodded and led Dick to a room in the back. She motioned to the table. “The paper said your arm was broken?”

“It is,” Slade said.

“How did that happen?” she asked.

“He-“

“I am addressing these questions to _Richard_ ,” Dr. Thompkins said. “If you would kindly let him answer the questions.”

Slade narrowed his eye but he grew silent. Dick swallowed hard. “It’s okay if he answers. I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” she said. “How did you break your arm?”

“I fell down the stairs,” Dick said. It was the truth, sort of. He’d had some help falling down the stairs. Too late he realized how that sounded.

“You fell down the stairs,” she repeated. She didn’t believe him, he could tell. He couldn’t blame her. That was the same excuse domestic abuse victims used all the time.

“I did,” he said weakly.

Her eyes narrowed on Slade but then she motioned for Dick to stick his arm out. “Let me take a look at your arm.”

The process of looking over his arm took several minutes and hurt like a bitch. “It’s broken.”

“It took you that long to figure that out?” Slade asked dryly.

“It’s fractured in two places,” she said. “He needs surgery.”

“Out of the question,” Slade said.

“Then you risk the arm healing wrong,” she replied.

Dick looked down at his arm and closed his eyes. Wintergreen had promised that they would heal his arm right, but Slade was in charge. It was an unnecessary risk to heal the arm of a man soon to be dead. “Just do what you can without the surgery.”

“Look, Richard,” she said. “I know sometimes that relationships can feel like they last forever but you need to consider what your priority is in life. If you don’t get surgery, you’re likely to lose part of the mobility in this arm.”

It wouldn’t matter. “I don’t want the surgery.”

“Richard-“

Slade stood and grabbed Dick’s arm. “Doctor, you can either put the cast on his arm or we walk with nothing.”

Dick never felt more like he wasn’t in control as the doctor and Slade stared each other down. The woman never looked cowed for a second, but she backed off. Dick knew Slade was dead serious and he had to assume that the woman could see that in his eyes. As far as she knew, Dick wasn’t willing to step in.

He was lucky, she could have let him ‘learn his lesson’ and walk out with Slade.

“Get back on the table. I’ll cast the arm as best I can here,” she said.

Dick nodded and climbed back up on the table. The process of casting his arm inadvertently revealed a few bruises beneath his baggy clothes. Her lips thinned with every new inch of bruised, black and blue skin that she revealed. Still she worked patiently until Dick’s arm was casted. He’d picked the blue cast.

“Usually I just let the kids pick a color but… everyone needs a little fun in their lives I guess,” she said.

Dick smiled weakly. Somehow he doubted that getting to pick which color his broken arm was wrapped up in was going to make up for being dead before he got it cut off. “Thanks.”

Slade yanked him off the table. “We’re leaving.”

Dr. Thompkins grabbed Dick’s hand, shaking it. He felt the corners of a business card cut into his palm before she pulled her hand away. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Richard.”

Dick curled his hand around the business card and nodded. “Same.”

Slade pushed him down the hall and out of the lobby, out into the parking lot. He grabbed Dick’s wrist and squeezed until Dick uncurled his hand and the business card fell onto the ground. “You trying to hide it?”

“I thought things would go smoother if she thought I was going to take it,” Dick said softly.

Slade kicked the balled up card into a pile of cigarette butts and beer bottle shards. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

Dick slid his good hand into his pocket. The cast pressed against his chest where he pulled it in close. “They think you’re abusing me.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Slade said. “As long as they don’t know the truth.”

Dick climbed into the front seat again.

“Don’t pout,” Slade ordered.

“I’m not pouting,” Dick replied.

“I left that woman alive,” Slade said. “And the doctor.”

“I’m not pouting,” Dick repeated. “I’m really not.”

“Then stop acting like it,” Slade said.

Dick tipped his head back against the seat. “Can we just pick up something to eat? I’m starving.”

Slade huffed, but pulled out of the parking lot. Dick closed his eyes and pictured the baby in his arms, the sigh of relief from the mother, and wondered what limited mobility meant in his arm.

None of which, he knew, would ever really matter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Day Eighteen**

“Most people don’t sound pornographic eating a cheeseburger.” Dick flipped him off. A hand squeezed around Dick’s wrist and dragged it down to the table top. “Flip me off again and I’ll break your finger.”

Dick curled his hand into a fist and pulled his hand back into his lap. “It’s good. I missed junk food.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Slade said.

“It’s been long enough for me to miss junk food,” Dick said.

Slade rolled his eye and leaned back in the booth. Absently, Dick dragged his French fries through the squirt of ketchup soaking into the tray liner as he glanced at the TV. “You need to pick up the pace.”

“It’s hard to eat with one hand,” Dick said.

“I’m sure you’ll find it in yourself to figure something out,” Slade said.

Dick picked up the cheeseburger again, preferring to eat that with all the protein than keep shoveling fries in his face. “Aren’t you going to eat something?”

“I have standards,” Slade said.

“You don’t even salt the food when you cook it,” Dick said. “What kind of standards could you possibly have?”

“Finish your food, kid. I told you that you could eat but you’re not going to keep stalling,” Slade ordered.

Dick polished off the cheeseburger. Totally worth it. “Fine. Let’s get going then.”

“Finally.” Slade stood. The moment Dick was on his feet, Slade was guiding him out of the restaurant with a hand on his lower back. “Last thing I need is someone seeing your face and recognizing you.”

“Bruce hasn’t gone public about you kidnapping me. You told him not to,” Dick said.

“Doesn’t mean he listened. Doesn’t mean he didn’t tell someone, even if he’s keeping it quiet,” Slade said.

Dick stumbled when he stopped and the hand on his back kept pushing him forward. “You think someone is actually looking for me?”

Slade’s hand slid up from his lower back to the back of Dick’s neck and squeezed. “Keep your voice down, Grayson. It doesn’t matter if anyone is looking for you because they are not going to find you.”

Dick winced from the hand tight around his neck. “They could.”

Slade opened the car door and pushed Dick towards it. He climbed in, struggling with only the use of one arm. Slade gripped Dick’s chin between his fingers and forced Dick’s gaze to his. “Listen, boy. You don’t want to be wishing for someone to find you because if they do then I have to make this a lot bloodier than I’ve been paid for.”

Dick searched Slade’s face for any sign that Slade was bluffing. “You can’t just kill everyone.”

“Watch me,” Slade said.

Dick pulled his face away and fell silent.

Slade slammed the door shut and walked around to the other side. He didn’t speak again until he’d started the car up and looked out at the road. “No one is going to come. Wayne isn’t stupid enough to mess this up and without a bigger manhunt, they won’t find you. No one is going to get hurt as long as you behave.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Dick asked.

“I don’t care if it makes you feel better,” Slade said. “I’m telling you what is going to happen.”

It did make Dick feel better. He just refused to admit that out loud.

~~~

“I see that you are fast on your way to recovery, young man,” Wintergreen said.

Dick looked down at the cast. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Wintergreen asked.

Slade helped Dick get the jacket off and then tossed it over the back of the couch. “Drop it, William.”

“I don’t understand,” Wintergreen said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dick replied.

“Slade-“

“The arm needs surgery,” Slade said, short and sharp.

Wintergreen’s lips thinned. “I see.”

“I’m going to go upstairs and lay down,” Dick said. He set the bag on the counter. “We brought you a cheeseburger.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, William,” Slade said.

“I am not someone that you can boss around, Slade,” Wintergreen replied, tone as cold as ice. “What are you going to do?”

“About?” Slade asked. Dick shifted, unsure if he should just go ahead and head upstairs. Slade turned on him and barked, “I thought you were leaving. Go.”

Dick took the time to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and then shuffled away.

“You lost control of your temper,” Wintergreen said.

Dick stopped on the stairs. Waiting, listening.

“He broke the rules, William,” Slade replied.

“And he needs surgery that you can’t let him have,” Wintergreen said.

“He won’t be alive to miss the use of his arm,” Slade said. “What does it matter?”

“It matters to him,” Wintergreen said. “You saw the look on his face. I know you have to search deep to find your emotions but you should still be able to recognize them in someone else. He’s devastated. And over, what? A natural attempt to escape? What would you do in his situation?”

“I wouldn’t be in his situation.” Slade snorted. “My father wouldn’t have given a flying fuck.”

“Slade, try to have an ounce of empathy,” Wintergreen said. “This was supposed to be quick. Dragging this out is cruel and now you’ve taken away the use of his arm.”

“Empathy isn’t going to finish this job,” Slade said. “I took the payment. I’m doing the job. If he didn’t want to die with a broken arm, he should have followed the rules.”

“Slade-“

“I’m done talking about this,” Slade said. “He messed up. There are consequences to every action. Are you planning on turning me in?”

Silence hung heavy in the air and Dick held his breath, even knowing that he was too far away for Slade to hear it.

“William, I asked you a damn question,” Slade said.

“No,” Wintergreen snapped. “I’m not going to turn you in, but I won’t be part of these jobs in the future. This isn’t right.”

“As long as you’re not growing a conscience,” Slade said. “I don’t have time for that.”

Dick waited to make sure that was the end of the conversation and then finished his climb up the stairs.

**Day Twenty**

“What are you doing?” Dick asked.

Slade’s eye snapped up to narrow on Dick. He stepped back under the intensity, second guessing his decision to interrupt Slade’s apparent study of what appeared to be pictures. “Working.”

“Planning another kidnapping?” Dick asked. “Do I get a roommate?”

Slade huffed out a breath through his nose. “I don’t usually take jobs like you.”

“What makes me so special?” Dick asked.

“Luthor paid well,” Slade said.

“So I guess Luthor was the special one then,” Dick said.

“Guess so,” Slade replied.

It was a sort of dismissal, especially with the way that Slade returned his attention back to the photos. But Dick was lonely and Wintergreen was nowhere to be found since he’d made dinner for them last night. “If it’s not a kidnapping, what kind of job is it?”

“Does it matter?” Slade asked.

Dick considered and then stepped into the room, closer to Slade and the pictures. “Uh, yeah. I guess it does. So what kind of job is it?”

“What if I said it was an assassination?” Slade asked, closing the manila folder over the pictures.

Dick tugged at the corner of a photo, pulling it out of the folder to look at it. Slade stood and held his hand out, Dick only back stepped away to get a better look at it.

“She’s pretty,” Dick said. Middle aged. Reddish brown hair that sort of curled around some cute, round cheeks. Soft in the middle and all the confidence to show it off. “You’re going to kill her?”

Slade didn’t reply.

Dick swallowed and then handed the photo over. “What did she do?”

“What makes you think she did anything?” Slade asked.

“Someone wants her dead for something,” Dick said.

“Maybe she just has money they want. Or a position,” Slade said.

“Is that it? Does someone want her dead for money?” Dick asked.

Slade set the photo back in the folder. “No.” Dick didn’t speak, hoping Slade would fill in. “She’s part of a human trafficking ring. One of the women that she prostituted out managed to climb off the ratty mattress they kept her chained to and earn a place in the ring. She’ll never get out, she’ll never get away, but she managed to escape being raped multiple times every day and what she wants is revenge on the woman who spit on her the first day she was released from those chains.”

And Dick had thought the woman pretty.

“She’s well paid in her new position and she has decided that it’s better not to get her hands dirty and leave a trail back to her,” Slade finished. “So she hired an outside solution to the problem.”

“You,” Dick summarized.

“Me,” Slade said. “Or she has, theoretically. I’m determining whether or not to take the job.”

Dick frowned. “Why not take it?”

“I’m working a job right now,” Slade said. “Or did you think you were vacationing here?”

“The last vacation I took was to Aruba with my family,” Dick said. “I have higher vacation standards than here.”

Slade snorted. “Is that so?”

Dick lifted his chin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have a silver spoon up your ass,” Slade said.

“I was adopted,” Dick said.

“I’m aware. I’ve done my research,” Slade said. “Eight years old. Born to John and Mary Grayson, raised in Haly’s Circus.”

“You know how frustrating it is for you to know all that and for me to know nothing?” Dick asked.

“You know how little I care?” Slade asked. Dick made a face. “I gave you the chance to learn a piece of my story.”

“I’m not going to learn it now,” Dick said, lifting his casted arm up.

“And whose fault is that?” Slade asked.

Dick lowered his arm back against his chest. “Mine.”

“Exactly,” Slade said.

“Give me something else to earn it,” Dick said.

Slade sighed. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Dick said. “If I’m still alive to learn it, I’ll learn how to shave with a straight razor too but give me something now. I need… _something_.”

Something to focus his mind on.

Slade stared at him. He tossed the file to Dick who caught it with his good hand. “Here. There are blueprints, schedules, photos, background information. Give me a plan that would work and I’ll tell you how I lost my eye.”

Dick looked over the file and then snapped his gaze up to Slade. “You want me to plan an assassination?”

“I don’t care if you plan an assassination. You told me to give you something to do. I did,” Slade said. “Do it, or don’t. It’s no skin off my back.” Dick clutched the file. “Run along.”

“What?” Dick asked.

“I said run along. Get out from under my feet. You’re not going to make a plan here and you’re only serving to frustrate me,” Slade said.

Dick scowled. “I’m not under your feet by choice.”

“Out, Grayson,” Slade ordered.

Dick reluctantly left the room and the company, however cantankerous that company was. “Fine.”

Dick opened the file in the hallway and then closed it. He didn’t want to plan an assassination.

 

**Day Twenty Two**

“No,” Slade said.

Dick set the file down on the counter. “No, _what_?”

“You’re here to sell me some plan on the assassination. I’m telling you it’s a bad plan,” Slade said.

Dick frowned. “You haven’t even let me tell you anything about it.”

“I don’t need to. It didn’t take you long enough,” Slade said. “This is your first time. You’ve had two days. Whatever plan you have has problems, problems that even you could spot and fix if you looked over it. So go do that and then come back.”

“If I could spot them and fix them, I would have,” Dick said.

“Take another look,” Slade ordered. “If you’re confident at the end of the day, you can show me over dinner.”

Dick huffed but snatched the file back up. “You’re stalling. I hate you.”

“I’ll sleep okay at night,” Slade said dryly. “Go.”

~~~

“I’m assuming that you’ve found some holes in your master plan,” Slade said. There was a faint note of mocking in his tone and Dick glowered at his plate. “Live and learn.”

“I’m going to fix the problems,” Dick said.

“Good to hear. It’s not a lesson if you don’t learn from it,” Slade said.

Dick snorted. “How to kill someone. What a great life lesson.”

“It’s a better lesson than you think,” Slade said. “And you’re not learning how to kill. You’re learning how to make a plan.”

“A plan to kill someone,” Dick countered.

“Trust me. There’s a difference,” Slade said.

Dick picked up the fork. “Well, I draw the line at this.”

“For now,” Slade said.

Dick shook his head. “No. Permanently. I don’t want to learn how to hurt someone like that.”

“Eat,” Slade ordered.

Dick shoveled the food in his mouth and then excused himself from the table. He opened the file and started from the ground up again.

 

**Day Twenty Six**

Dick had the pictures, blueprints, and schedules out on the floor. He’d moved the couch and the coffee table, the latter having been shoved in front of the door so that he had enough room to move around the physical space his assassination plan was starting to take up.

The front door locks clicked and the door opened a foot before it hit the coffee table there.

“What the…” Wintergreen trailed off, peeking his head in to look at the table.

Dick left the plans, walking over and hooking his left foot around the leg of the coffee table. He tugged, stumbling, and giving Wintergreen enough room to step inside. “Sorry.”

Wintergreen closed the door behind him and then locked it from the inside. The keys were slid back into his pocket. “What is this?”

“I can’t use a straight razor,” Dick said. He rubbed his jaw with his good hand, feeling the scruff. “Slade gave me a different task to learn how he lost his eye.”

“And this task would be…” Wintergreen trailed off, carefully stepping through the minefield of paperwork spread out on the floor.

“Planning an assassination,” Dick said.

Wintergreen stopped, toes pointed directly at that photo Dick had first seen. “Naturally.”

“I think I’ve just about got it,” Dick said. “He’s thrown out several of my plans already.” He glanced up. “You’ve been gone for a while.”

“A little over a week,” Wintergreen confirmed.

Dick rocked back on his heels. “Has it… has it really been that long?”

“Yes,” Wintergreen said, dragging the word out.

“How long have I been here?” Dick asked.

“Twenty something days?” Wintergreen guessed.

“Almost a month,” Dick said. “It feels longer.” A pause. “And it doesn’t even feel that long.”

Wintergreen was quiet. He motioned to the things on the floor. “Tell me your new plan.”

Dick was just finishing up his run through when Slade stepped into the room. “William.”

“Slade,” he replied.

“I didn’t think you were going to come back,” Slade said.

Dick glanced between them. Wintergreen rolled his eyes. “You’re overdramatic, Slade. I told you that I would come back. I needed time.”

“You ran away,” Slade said.

“And then I came back,” Wintergreen pressed. “Richard has figured out an answer to your problem.”

“Has he now?” Slade asked.

Wintergreen motioned to Dick who shifted. He nodded. “I think so, yeah.”

Slade crossed his arms over his chest. “Talk to me.”

Dick ran through the plan for it again. From the beginning to the end, right down to Slade’s escape route.

Slade held his hand out. Dick picked up the blueprints and handed them over. Slade was silent, looking it over and then glancing at the various papers all over the floor to put it together in his head. He shrugged. “Not bad. Not great but not bad.”

“It’s a good plan, Slade,” Wintergreen chastised.

“It’s good,” Slade agreed. “Just not great.”

Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “Does that mean-“

“Wintergreen will watch you. I’ll contact the woman and tell her I’m taking the job. When I get back, yes,” Slade said.

Dick felt his lips stretched into a smile. “Cool.”

Slade rolled his eye. “Clean all this up and put the furniture back where it belongs before dinner.”

Dick grinned.

Slade scowled. “Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” Dick said. He went about the task of picking up the papers.

Wintergreen watched Slade leave the room. “Good job, Richard.”

“Thanks,” Dick said. He paused when he picked up the picture. His smile faded. “She’s gonna die now though, isn’t she?”

Wintergreen hesitated and then, “Yes.”

“Slade said that she’s a bad person. She hurt people,” Dick said. “I don’t… I don’t know that any of that makes this right.”

“It’s not our place to decide if someone deserves it or not,” Wintergreen said. “You’re ascribing too much power to anyone who takes life into their own hands.”

Dick set the papers down and started to move the coffee table. Wintergreen waved him off and moved the coffee table himself. “I just don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death.”

“You’re not,” Wintergreen said. “If you didn’t do this, someone else would. Slade, by himself maybe, or someone else. Someone who wasn’t as good as Slade and left a bigger trail of bodies.”

“There should only be one person who dies,” Dick said. “The target. I was careful of that.”

“Good,” Wintergreen encouraged. “Slade should have someone around him that thinks that is important.”

“Does that really matter?” Dick asked.

Wintergreen shrugged, putting the couch into place. “Maybe not, but it doesn’t hurt either.”

“William! Dinner!” Slade shouted from the other room.

Wintergreen scowled and stalked out of the room. “I am not your goddamn chef, Slade.”

Dick watched him disappear into the other room and looked back down at the photo.


End file.
